It was pitch black.
The kind you see when you have a dreamless night. You think you’ve opened your eyes, but really, you are starring into an abyss you have been trapped in unless you wake up.
Well, you did. You woke up. It is still black.
How does it feel?
Not good, right?
That’s the kind of response that was wanted.
Confused and groggy, you rub your eyes. Are you truly awake? You run your hand through your hair. Are you a real person? You touch your body. Nothing is missing. You are wearing clothes but you don’t know how you look like. You sit up. This is a bed. There are no sheets. Your hand brushes the pillow you laid your head on a moment ago. You swing your legs and anticipate a floor. Thankfully, it is there and due to your warm socks, you can’t feel the cold tiles.
A thousand questions charge into your head. The few essential ones are Where are you? And why are you here?
You push yourself off the bed. Gently because you’re afraid your legs may be weak. Inch by inch, you fumble forward. Your toe bangs against a table leg. You assume there is nothing on the table as you wave your hands over it. Yet you feel something move when you start to shuffle past. You reach for it but it moves away. You try to grab it but commence to fall, bruising your knees. It is a chair with a curved back and a set of four wheels. You sit on it, suddenly exhausted. A crushing weight lands on your shoulders and you feel fear for the first time. It’s so dark. You wonder if your life will be so obscure forever. Your minimal exertion causes you to become hot and sweat collects on your forehead, matting your hair. You breathe deeply, in and out, to keep from hyperventilating and losing more energy. Your hands search desperately for walls. When they are found, you feel up and down, both aimless and resolute. There is nothing. No switch. No other furniture in the room.
Heavily breathing and with sweat dripping down your nose, you clumsily find the chair again. You sit on it, gathering your head in your arms. Dizziness sweeps you. Nausea overwhelms you.
“Help,” you whimper. The darkness. The heat. Is this what hell was supposed to feel like?
Alone and …
Something clicks. You left your head.
“Ack!”
Immediately, you cover your eyes. You looked straight into the light bulb hanging above you. Orbs flash like fireworks in your irises. You shield your eyes with your hands like a visor and slowly familiarize them to the light.
You eagerly survey your surroundings. Opposite from your initial experience, the room is so white, so clinical. The bed, the chair, the table. All white. And unexpectedly cold to the touch.
“Hello,” you call out. “Is anybody there?”
“Do you remember your name?”
Someone spoke? Who?
“No?”
“Why not?”
The kind you see when you have a dreamless night. You think you’ve opened your eyes, but really, you are starring into an abyss you have been trapped in unless you wake up.
Well, you did. You woke up. It is still black.
How does it feel?
Not good, right?
That’s the kind of response that was wanted.
Confused and groggy, you rub your eyes. Are you truly awake? You run your hand through your hair. Are you a real person? You touch your body. Nothing is missing. You are wearing clothes but you don’t know how you look like. You sit up. This is a bed. There are no sheets. Your hand brushes the pillow you laid your head on a moment ago. You swing your legs and anticipate a floor. Thankfully, it is there and due to your warm socks, you can’t feel the cold tiles.
A thousand questions charge into your head. The few essential ones are Where are you? And why are you here?
You push yourself off the bed. Gently because you’re afraid your legs may be weak. Inch by inch, you fumble forward. Your toe bangs against a table leg. You assume there is nothing on the table as you wave your hands over it. Yet you feel something move when you start to shuffle past. You reach for it but it moves away. You try to grab it but commence to fall, bruising your knees. It is a chair with a curved back and a set of four wheels. You sit on it, suddenly exhausted. A crushing weight lands on your shoulders and you feel fear for the first time. It’s so dark. You wonder if your life will be so obscure forever. Your minimal exertion causes you to become hot and sweat collects on your forehead, matting your hair. You breathe deeply, in and out, to keep from hyperventilating and losing more energy. Your hands search desperately for walls. When they are found, you feel up and down, both aimless and resolute. There is nothing. No switch. No other furniture in the room.
Heavily breathing and with sweat dripping down your nose, you clumsily find the chair again. You sit on it, gathering your head in your arms. Dizziness sweeps you. Nausea overwhelms you.
“Help,” you whimper. The darkness. The heat. Is this what hell was supposed to feel like?
Alone and …
Something clicks. You left your head.
“Ack!”
Immediately, you cover your eyes. You looked straight into the light bulb hanging above you. Orbs flash like fireworks in your irises. You shield your eyes with your hands like a visor and slowly familiarize them to the light.
You eagerly survey your surroundings. Opposite from your initial experience, the room is so white, so clinical. The bed, the chair, the table. All white. And unexpectedly cold to the touch.
“Hello,” you call out. “Is anybody there?”
“Do you remember your name?”
Someone spoke? Who?
“No?”
“Why not?”
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