Autobiography

Milan Ramos

5/8/26

Prof. Rachel

# The Interview Room

The room was bubbly  light pink. That’s the first thing she noticed—the walls, the floor, even the air seemed dusted with soft warm lighting . A small table sat in the middle, two chairs facing each other. On the table, a glass of water and a blank notepad.

The woman across from her had no face.

Not a blur. Not a shadow. Just smooth, skin colored porcelain where her face  should have been. But she spoke anyway, her voice light and kind, 

“How are you today?’ starts the recorder

“ Im going to be asking you a question over the course of days”

“My day is ok and okay” the little girl said. Her voice was small, but steady. 

“And how old are you?”

“Eleven.”

The faceless woman nodded. “And how’s life? Is everything good?”

The girl thought about it. “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t seen my dad in a while. But me and Mom and my little sister we’re doing okay. We watch movies. My mom makes pancakes eggs and bacon this morning .” and my mom gives me lots of candy”

“That’s good,” said the faceless woman. “That’s really nice.”

She closed the notepad, stood, and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

Days passed.

The little girl gets worried and concerned on why she’s still here and where’s her mom.

The little girl tried to count the days by the meals that appeared on a tray sliding through a slot in the door. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. She tried to keep track, but the numbers blurred. two? Three? The pink room felt smaller now. Not so pink and bubbly.

Then the door opened again.

The faceless woman sat down. She didn’t bring the notepad this time.

“Your dad isn’t coming home, “she said. “He’s missing.”

The girl’s chest caved in. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

But the woman was already standing. Walking away. The door clicked.

“Wait” The girl ran after her, but the door was locked. She pounded on it. “Where is he? Please!”

Silence.

–

More days. Another tray. Then the door again.

“Your house burned down,” the faceless woman said. “Everything.  Your mom and sister are going to live with your great-grandmother. Her house is old. Dark. Creaky.”

“Can I go now?” the girl whispered not even caring that the house burnt.

“No. You stay here.” said the interviewer 

“But why—”

The door clicked.

The room went black.

Not just dark black. The pink was gone. The walls felt cold . the young girl screamed, but her voice came out hollow. She pressed her hands against every surface, searching for a door, a crack, a way out. Nothing. She thought to herself there’s too much happening.

She ran. She didn’t know where she was running, but her feet kept going forward into endless darkness. A shaking noise appeared And then

She hit something. A mirror.

She stepped back. The mirror warped , and in the dim light she saw her own reflection. But it wasn’t the eleven year old as she remembered. The face staring back at her was older, eyes deeper ,hair longer.

“How long has it been?” she whispered to the mirror.

The door slowly opened behind her.

The faceless woman stood there. “You’re thirteen now.”

“Thirteen?” Her voice trembled . “What happened to my mom?! My sister?!” “do they know that im here”

“They went to live with your grandmother. Your mom’s side. They’re safe.”

The girl felt a warmth spread through her chest—relief, fragile and bright. “So they’re okay?”

“Yes.”

The door clicked.

—

Days. Weeks. She stopped counting. Time felt like nothingness and endless 

One morning—or maybe it was night—a letter appeared on the floor. , her mom’s handwriting.

“Honey bunny, I don’t know if this will reach you. Grandma is sick. She’s saying strange things. She talks to people who aren’t there and dances. She keeps mumbling “her house is hurt” and screaming and lying. We’re not safe here. I miss you. We love you.”

The young girl held the paper until it crumpled. The maracas started again and she followed it.

That sound. A dry, rattling shake. I felt comforted in a way,  coming from everywhere and nowhere. The young girl pressed her hands to her ears, but it seeped through her bones. Shake shake shake. A slow beat. She screamed. She scratched  at the walls. She tried to break the mirror. Nothing.  Times passed in the darkness

—

Another letter. Sat on the floor

“There’s a sickness. All over the world. People are dying. We’re staying inside. Please be safe. masks on”

She started sweating. The maracas stopped.

Silence was worse.

——

Another letter.

“Grandpa passed away. The sickness took him. I’m sorry.”

She stared at the words. She should cry. She knew she should cry. But her eyes stayed dry. Her chest stayed still.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

—–

And then—a door. A real door. Not a wall. A door!.

It swung open.

Her mother stood there. Her little sister. They looked exactly like she remembered but they were far away, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. She ran toward them. The door stretched. The hallway stretched. No matter how fast she moved, they stayed impossibly distant.

“I’m never getting out of here,”she sobbed.

She collapsed. Her voice turned to mumbles, then prayers, then nothing.

“Why me? What did I do?”

She looked up. The mirror was back. And in it, she saw the faceless woman. But the woman had a face now. And in her hands, she was shaking a maraca—bright blue, white, and red .

“It was you,” the young  girl said.

She got up on her feet and ran to the mirror. “Why did you put me in here? Why?”

She reached the glass mirror . Her reflection blurred, swirled, and then cleared.

The face in the mirror was her own. But older. A young adult.  .

“Who is that?” the girl breathed.

The reflection smiled. “It’s you.”

“That’s not me. I’m a kid.”

“You’ve been here a long time. How old are you now?”

The girl stared at the woman in the mirror , tired eyes, the same nose,. She looked… like she could be twenty.

“Twenty,” she said. “I think.—how do I get out if you’re me?”

The woman in the mirror laughed, a soft, sad sound. She reached through the glass. Her hand came out solid, warm.

“Come on, I know the way,”she said.

The young girl took it.

—-

A crashing sound. An like old TV blaring static, she turned and it and—

The little girl sat up the tv playing her favorite show zach and cody She was in her bedroom. Her little sister was asleep in the bed with a purple frame and pink room with white stripe . Her mom passed by the doorway, 

“Honey, you okay? Heard a noise.”

“Yeah,” she said, soft . “Just a bad dream, I don’t really remember now. .”

Her mom smiled. “Aw honey bunny, it’s okay . Go back to sleep.”

The door closed. She lay back on the pillow. The sheets were soft. The room was warm. Everything was fine.

She smiled.

The little girl said “strange i felt almost scared just then welp”

And then she heard it.

A single shake of maracas.

Her eyes snapped open. The room went black. A cold female voice, calm and eerie, said:

“How old are you now?”

A click. The sound of a recorder starting.