there comes a time in man’s search for meaning when he realizes that there are no answers.
you are in a white room : there is nothing but this , a whiteness that spreads as a disease into an unfurnished , unclean , undirty , white room. you are in a white room , and there is a light , or perhaps there is not. there is a woman , or perhaps there is not . you are in a white room , as white as all white can be , and you hear nothing but the sound of — you hear nothing, not even the sound of your own heartbeat. steve rogers is in a white room , and the cold bites at the edges of his fingertips.
he can move , though his movements are stiff : as if frozen , only now relearning the heat of blood pumping through veins . perhaps this is it : the act of becoming now , blossoming upon the decay , movement of frozen limbs regaining its color , regaining its blood , regaining its life : or perhaps not . or perhaps something in between . or perhaps nothing at all. he stands in a white room , with nothing but a chair , with nothing but a woman , with nothing but silence. where am i ? silence. who are you ? silence. is this a dream ? silence. i don’t understand . silence , sickening and deafening , surrounding the air with its weight. what happened ? she smiles , sadly or perhaps softly , or perhaps nothing at all : perhaps cold , perhaps impassive . there comes a time in man’s search for meaning when he realizes there are no answers , she says , and now it is his turn to stand silent.
a blink , a shift , frozen limbs and a silent heartbeat , each breath heavier , fear or numbness , or both , or all : he speaks , finally : ❛ and what comes next? ❜
JACKIE (2016) : @lamorts