A while back, I saw a favorite blogger of mine–someone who does what’s called an “overnight thread” make a brief pass at this subject. It was an exercise such as this one in which a full story arc can be galvanized into a mere six words. I distinctly remember one that was referenced back then, which told me everything I’d have ever wanted to know about trying this:
For Sale: Baby shoes. Never used.
But why six words? Why not five? Seven. Twelve?
Maybe it’s part of our conditioning mosaic. Maybe it’s the Biblical calibration of the number 6–the one that seems to consistently imply imperfection, degradation, or incompleteness. You know, the way the supreme nether-lout will have a 666 accompanying his nomenclature–in a sort of triune cocktail of wretchedness, intellect and infernal underwriting.
Speaking of which, looking through the New Testament one time, searching for numerical oddities, I found a number of cool things–such as the fact that you can only run three consecutive sixes as a referential point on one place: John 6:66.
Upon this many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him.
And if you understand the context of that verse, it too–is a scary/sad story.
Back to my point. I have no idea why the matrix says six, but let’s go with it. It doesn’t have to be macabre. It just needs some cold wind blowing through it. I’d examine why THAT is the case, but then again, re-read everything up this point. Question answered.
Thus. I posit in a mere six words, the most reverberatingly horrific venture into the void that comes to mind at the moment:
Robin’s room. Locked. From the inside.