The best way to describe where you're at now is a room. There wasn't anything before this. "This is all there is" you're told. but you still have faint memories. Outlines of a rug. A chair. Something soft.
4 walls. a floor. and a ceiling. Smooth. No paint. No scuff marks. The floor is cold tile. Tile singular. as if one big one spanning the square you inhabit. Not even any grooves inbetween to study and fixate on. There is light but there are no shadows. A small ridge where wall meets ceiling you cant reach where it comes in from
You own nothing. You wear fitted boxer briefs matching your skin tone. The material non offensive and uninteresting.
There is nothing here for your eyes to focus on, giving you a mild headache in perpetuity.
If you scratch at or knock on the walls it gives off an unsatisfying thud without reverberation.
The temperature never changes. You are always a little too cold. You will never get used to it.
The only sound left that you know is your own voice and you are sick of it.
In one corner a splotch on the wall less than a centimeter long has taken on a slight discoloration. It is your primary form of entertainment.
You feel infinitely large and small at the same time. Claustrophobic in open space. Without even the most mundane object to hold on to. Something to wrap fingers around. To press against skin. You feel wholly naked.
There is a group of voices berrating you. Theyre talking down to you. Yelling "Do something!" "Arent you going to fix this?" "Are you retarded or something?"
You plead for an answer. You ask what you're supposed to do.
"Come on. You're not that stupid."
You weep. You sob hysterically
You have already experienced the last new sensation of your life. You will never learn any new information again. Every thought derivative. Existing is a permanent familiarity. The only threat to you is time and it is terrifying.
You no longer remember what was here before. All you know now is that there was something. All you feel now is it's absence.
