Neo Kervoskia
15-10-2005, 22:04
The White Room
I. requiem
I sat on the bed. I have nothing in life, it has no meaning. I worked for years, but for what I still don't know. Day in and day out I followed the same routine, it wasn't that it was necessary, but it was out of habit. She's gone, I'll never see her again, not even in court. She left me alone with my thoughts and my bank account. I can't do anything with myself, my head is spinning and I can't collect my thoughts. I bent over the bed and reached for my half-empty pack of cigarettes. This would be my twenty-first one today, I shouldn't smoke so much, but what have I got to lose? The motel room was filled with grey smoke, I didn't cough because I used to it, after three days you sort of had to. What the fuck was I doing here? The room smelled like smoke and it looked like shit now. My clothes were everywhere. I had no reason to clean up, some poorly paid maid would do that.
Bottles of cheap liquor were scattered all over the floor, most of them were half empty and had cigarette ash in them. The television was on some local channel. I've been watching alot of television lately. Not paying attention, but just staring at the screen. It's like when you're at the hospital, there are old magazines and the television's set on some fucking Hispanic channel and people staring at it as if they understood it. It's just something to pass the time, to wait out the fear or the depression that something or other is going to fuck you. The room itself was shitty irrespective of my garbage.The walls were a sickly yellow and the floor was a dark brown shag. The bathroom wasn't much better. My cigarettes littered that room as well, wet towels and used disposable razors.
I put my hands to my head, I thought to myself, what am I doing? Why am I in this room, being absolutely unproductive and torturing myself. I have no in the world who cares about me, except for my mother, but she's so senile that she doesn't know what the fuck is happening half the time. I stood up and wiped the ash off of my shirt. I scratched my head and walked towards the bathroom. I stumpbled over my two feet, the alcohol is still in my system. I sit on the toilet and think. What should I do? Then it hit me, I should kill myself. It wouldn't be a big loss, it'd be a net gain for the world. The next question that popped into my head was how should I do it? Pills are for coked-up houswives and overly emotional teenagers. I was neither, so it wouldn't be fitting. I could hang myself, but strangulation has always scared me. I could cut my wrist, yeah that sounded pretty good. It wouldn't be as painless as taking pills, but I didn't have a gun so this was the next best option.
I took one of the razors from the floor and broke it. I took out the thin razor and pressed it against my skin. I hesitated at first, but then the feeling of the metal touching my skin felt so good. I closed my eyes and slowly slid it across my wrist. I felt relief. I didn't look down, I just savored that feeling. I did it repeatedly until I thought that I had cut off my hand. I finally looked down to observe the damage. Fuck, I thought, this really was the end. It looked as though I cut through half of the flesh connecting my hand to my arm. The blood flowed out of the wound. This is the end, I said to myself in as cliche` a manner as I could. I felt dizzy. I fell onto the floor. I realized the full consequences of my actions and put my other hand over my wound. I tried to stop the bleeding. I reached for a towel. It soon was dripping with blood. I stood up, but I didn't make it very far before I collapsed and blacked out.
II. epilogue
I opended my eyes, I was on the floor, but it wasn't the motel room floor. It was too clean. I sat up and reached for my pack of cigarettes. I couldn't find them. I looked around and realized that I wasn't in my motel room. I didn't know where I was. I searhced my pockets for a cigarette, but I was in different clothes, they weren't mine. I was dressed in a black suit. It was clean and the edges were ironed, yeah this definitely wasn't mine. I felt weird, I felt stiff. My face was cold. I was wearing black shoes, the kind that politicians wear. My hair was combed and still. It was then that I remembered what I had done. I looked down at my wrist, the wound wasn't there. There wasn't a scratch on my arm.
This made me jump. I didn't know where I was or how I even got there. I was in a room, a white room. There weren't any windows, or even a door for that matter. Except for me, the room was completely empty. I began to panic. I ran around the room, searching for a door or something, but I knew it was useless. Even if you're completely and utterly fucked, you still search for a way out. I clawed at the walls, banged them. Then I was calm, I don't know why but the feeling of panic subsided. I walked to the middle of the room and sat down. It was all very peculiar.
I just sat there, calmly thinking. I tried to get in order what facts I knew. I had slit my wrist, so I assumed that I was dead. I was in ym funeral suit, which would explain the clothes. I had been embalmed, which explained the stiffness. Where I was, I didn't know. I wondered how long I had been on the floor before someone found me. I wondered how many people cared that I was dead and how many people attended my funeral. That spurred a series of questions. Had I been buried or cremated? Was my obiturary truthful, or was it just another piece of shit obituary where they make you sound like Jesus Christ? What did she say? Or better yet, did she even know that I was dead?
I sat there for I don't know how long. I was cogitating. Was this hell? If it was then I'm disappointed, my Sunday school teachers lied to me. Was this Heaven? If it was, it's far better than I had expected it to be.Where were the angels or the demons? I didn't see Hitler in one corner of the room or God in another. I was isolated, I felt as if someone were watching me. Maybe this was purgatory. I have to wait here for a period of time until I am judged. I hope that would be a short period. After about an hour, at least that was my estimate, I was stood up and began to pace. I walked from one side of the room to the other. I did this about a hundred times before boredom kicked in once more.
I quit that exercise, oddly enough I felt tired and out fo breath. I went to the nearest corner and sat down. I was puzzled. Why did I feel tired? This feels to real to be something spiritual. I didn't feel hungry or thirsty, I usually have a healthy appetite. I didn't have much time to ponder about anything else because I blacked out once more. I didn't dream. I was empty in both body and mind. When I was asleep, everything was black. I couldn't even attempt to think, my mental activities were frozen once my eyes closed. I woke up from this coma and found myself in the same white room. I wasn't so much surprised as disappointed, I didn't think it took God this long to make a decision. Then again, I've never been on the top of the waiting list.
I looked around the room to see if it anaything had changed. It was the same. I stood up heard a s familiar sound. I peered down and next to me foot was a small red rubber ball. How did it get here? It couldn't have been here yesterday, I searched every inch of the goddamn room. I was actually glad to have it, no matter from where it came. I now had something with which to amuse myself. I picked it up and rolled it around in my palm. I through it against the wall and watched it bounce. I began to play wall ball, a game I haven't played since I was a kid. This was more entertaining than pacing. I was thankful for this ball, it became my new friend.
I guess it's a natural thing.When you're isolated, if you have to maximize the utitlity of whatever you have. I had this rubber ball, it kept me sane. Without it I would be stricken with boredom, and that can have unimaginable effects on the mind. You begin to appreciate things more, you see them beyond what they really are. Everything has more meaning. This red rubber ball became the most valuable thing I had ever owned. I transmitted all fo my worries into it. I could beat them. All I had to do was throw them against the wall and watch them fly in every direction. I tried to stay awake as long as I could, I was afraid to go to sleep. Who knew what would happen. I wanted to stay in the now, where the situation was familiar and friendly. I failed. I again collapsed.
When I woke up this time, I ran around the room looking for the rubber ball. I couldn't find it anywhere. I fell onto the floor. I didn't know what to do, I had lost my last and most valuable possesion. I could confide in it, as I did with her. She was gone and now it was gone. My whole world was going to shit again. It was then that I realized that this was hell. It may not fit the stereotypical descriptions of it, but I was there. This was my own person hell. I wanted so much to end my pain, but I never had a second thought about what the repercusions would be. I being to breathe heavily, I don't know if could contain myself for much longer. I finally opened up.
"Who the fuck are you? Show yourselves, goddamn it. I want my life back, I want it all back.", even though I knew it was pointless, I continued, "Give it back, give it back..."
For the first time in my life I bursts into tears. I was on the floor weeping when I heard a voice. I turned around it was her. She was as I remember her. Her hair was straight and her skin was smoothe, there was a heavenly glow to her. She didn't say a word to me, but I knew what she was telling me, "It's alright, I'm here now. There is no need to worry."
I fell into her arms and cried, I have never been so happy. She held my head and rubbed it. It was as if I were a new-born, ignorant to the world and in need of someone. I hope this feeling lasts.
III. prologue
"Very good, very good. I am very pleased with these results.", said a man in a white lab coat. He appeared to be in his early fifties. His greased grey hair was parted on the side. Next to him was a much younger man who could not have been more than thirty or so. Several feet away there was a small group of students, taking notes and listening to the old man's every word.
"How long has he been in kept in that room?", asked one of the students.
"This is only the first day in isolation. It does seem to be like a much longer time to the gentelmen in the room, but that is because when one is completely isolated, one loses track of time. We have not provided him with any way to tell time, he is left to his own devices. This is human nature in its most desperate form.", replied the doctor"
"How long do you expect to keep him there?"
"Oh, a year or so. Tomorrow we will remove the female and see how he reacts."
"What are you trying to discover?"
"The essence of our nature."
The End
What do you think? It's from my Contemplations. I decided to develop it into a short story.
I. requiem
I sat on the bed. I have nothing in life, it has no meaning. I worked for years, but for what I still don't know. Day in and day out I followed the same routine, it wasn't that it was necessary, but it was out of habit. She's gone, I'll never see her again, not even in court. She left me alone with my thoughts and my bank account. I can't do anything with myself, my head is spinning and I can't collect my thoughts. I bent over the bed and reached for my half-empty pack of cigarettes. This would be my twenty-first one today, I shouldn't smoke so much, but what have I got to lose? The motel room was filled with grey smoke, I didn't cough because I used to it, after three days you sort of had to. What the fuck was I doing here? The room smelled like smoke and it looked like shit now. My clothes were everywhere. I had no reason to clean up, some poorly paid maid would do that.
Bottles of cheap liquor were scattered all over the floor, most of them were half empty and had cigarette ash in them. The television was on some local channel. I've been watching alot of television lately. Not paying attention, but just staring at the screen. It's like when you're at the hospital, there are old magazines and the television's set on some fucking Hispanic channel and people staring at it as if they understood it. It's just something to pass the time, to wait out the fear or the depression that something or other is going to fuck you. The room itself was shitty irrespective of my garbage.The walls were a sickly yellow and the floor was a dark brown shag. The bathroom wasn't much better. My cigarettes littered that room as well, wet towels and used disposable razors.
I put my hands to my head, I thought to myself, what am I doing? Why am I in this room, being absolutely unproductive and torturing myself. I have no in the world who cares about me, except for my mother, but she's so senile that she doesn't know what the fuck is happening half the time. I stood up and wiped the ash off of my shirt. I scratched my head and walked towards the bathroom. I stumpbled over my two feet, the alcohol is still in my system. I sit on the toilet and think. What should I do? Then it hit me, I should kill myself. It wouldn't be a big loss, it'd be a net gain for the world. The next question that popped into my head was how should I do it? Pills are for coked-up houswives and overly emotional teenagers. I was neither, so it wouldn't be fitting. I could hang myself, but strangulation has always scared me. I could cut my wrist, yeah that sounded pretty good. It wouldn't be as painless as taking pills, but I didn't have a gun so this was the next best option.
I took one of the razors from the floor and broke it. I took out the thin razor and pressed it against my skin. I hesitated at first, but then the feeling of the metal touching my skin felt so good. I closed my eyes and slowly slid it across my wrist. I felt relief. I didn't look down, I just savored that feeling. I did it repeatedly until I thought that I had cut off my hand. I finally looked down to observe the damage. Fuck, I thought, this really was the end. It looked as though I cut through half of the flesh connecting my hand to my arm. The blood flowed out of the wound. This is the end, I said to myself in as cliche` a manner as I could. I felt dizzy. I fell onto the floor. I realized the full consequences of my actions and put my other hand over my wound. I tried to stop the bleeding. I reached for a towel. It soon was dripping with blood. I stood up, but I didn't make it very far before I collapsed and blacked out.
II. epilogue
I opended my eyes, I was on the floor, but it wasn't the motel room floor. It was too clean. I sat up and reached for my pack of cigarettes. I couldn't find them. I looked around and realized that I wasn't in my motel room. I didn't know where I was. I searhced my pockets for a cigarette, but I was in different clothes, they weren't mine. I was dressed in a black suit. It was clean and the edges were ironed, yeah this definitely wasn't mine. I felt weird, I felt stiff. My face was cold. I was wearing black shoes, the kind that politicians wear. My hair was combed and still. It was then that I remembered what I had done. I looked down at my wrist, the wound wasn't there. There wasn't a scratch on my arm.
This made me jump. I didn't know where I was or how I even got there. I was in a room, a white room. There weren't any windows, or even a door for that matter. Except for me, the room was completely empty. I began to panic. I ran around the room, searching for a door or something, but I knew it was useless. Even if you're completely and utterly fucked, you still search for a way out. I clawed at the walls, banged them. Then I was calm, I don't know why but the feeling of panic subsided. I walked to the middle of the room and sat down. It was all very peculiar.
I just sat there, calmly thinking. I tried to get in order what facts I knew. I had slit my wrist, so I assumed that I was dead. I was in ym funeral suit, which would explain the clothes. I had been embalmed, which explained the stiffness. Where I was, I didn't know. I wondered how long I had been on the floor before someone found me. I wondered how many people cared that I was dead and how many people attended my funeral. That spurred a series of questions. Had I been buried or cremated? Was my obiturary truthful, or was it just another piece of shit obituary where they make you sound like Jesus Christ? What did she say? Or better yet, did she even know that I was dead?
I sat there for I don't know how long. I was cogitating. Was this hell? If it was then I'm disappointed, my Sunday school teachers lied to me. Was this Heaven? If it was, it's far better than I had expected it to be.Where were the angels or the demons? I didn't see Hitler in one corner of the room or God in another. I was isolated, I felt as if someone were watching me. Maybe this was purgatory. I have to wait here for a period of time until I am judged. I hope that would be a short period. After about an hour, at least that was my estimate, I was stood up and began to pace. I walked from one side of the room to the other. I did this about a hundred times before boredom kicked in once more.
I quit that exercise, oddly enough I felt tired and out fo breath. I went to the nearest corner and sat down. I was puzzled. Why did I feel tired? This feels to real to be something spiritual. I didn't feel hungry or thirsty, I usually have a healthy appetite. I didn't have much time to ponder about anything else because I blacked out once more. I didn't dream. I was empty in both body and mind. When I was asleep, everything was black. I couldn't even attempt to think, my mental activities were frozen once my eyes closed. I woke up from this coma and found myself in the same white room. I wasn't so much surprised as disappointed, I didn't think it took God this long to make a decision. Then again, I've never been on the top of the waiting list.
I looked around the room to see if it anaything had changed. It was the same. I stood up heard a s familiar sound. I peered down and next to me foot was a small red rubber ball. How did it get here? It couldn't have been here yesterday, I searched every inch of the goddamn room. I was actually glad to have it, no matter from where it came. I now had something with which to amuse myself. I picked it up and rolled it around in my palm. I through it against the wall and watched it bounce. I began to play wall ball, a game I haven't played since I was a kid. This was more entertaining than pacing. I was thankful for this ball, it became my new friend.
I guess it's a natural thing.When you're isolated, if you have to maximize the utitlity of whatever you have. I had this rubber ball, it kept me sane. Without it I would be stricken with boredom, and that can have unimaginable effects on the mind. You begin to appreciate things more, you see them beyond what they really are. Everything has more meaning. This red rubber ball became the most valuable thing I had ever owned. I transmitted all fo my worries into it. I could beat them. All I had to do was throw them against the wall and watch them fly in every direction. I tried to stay awake as long as I could, I was afraid to go to sleep. Who knew what would happen. I wanted to stay in the now, where the situation was familiar and friendly. I failed. I again collapsed.
When I woke up this time, I ran around the room looking for the rubber ball. I couldn't find it anywhere. I fell onto the floor. I didn't know what to do, I had lost my last and most valuable possesion. I could confide in it, as I did with her. She was gone and now it was gone. My whole world was going to shit again. It was then that I realized that this was hell. It may not fit the stereotypical descriptions of it, but I was there. This was my own person hell. I wanted so much to end my pain, but I never had a second thought about what the repercusions would be. I being to breathe heavily, I don't know if could contain myself for much longer. I finally opened up.
"Who the fuck are you? Show yourselves, goddamn it. I want my life back, I want it all back.", even though I knew it was pointless, I continued, "Give it back, give it back..."
For the first time in my life I bursts into tears. I was on the floor weeping when I heard a voice. I turned around it was her. She was as I remember her. Her hair was straight and her skin was smoothe, there was a heavenly glow to her. She didn't say a word to me, but I knew what she was telling me, "It's alright, I'm here now. There is no need to worry."
I fell into her arms and cried, I have never been so happy. She held my head and rubbed it. It was as if I were a new-born, ignorant to the world and in need of someone. I hope this feeling lasts.
III. prologue
"Very good, very good. I am very pleased with these results.", said a man in a white lab coat. He appeared to be in his early fifties. His greased grey hair was parted on the side. Next to him was a much younger man who could not have been more than thirty or so. Several feet away there was a small group of students, taking notes and listening to the old man's every word.
"How long has he been in kept in that room?", asked one of the students.
"This is only the first day in isolation. It does seem to be like a much longer time to the gentelmen in the room, but that is because when one is completely isolated, one loses track of time. We have not provided him with any way to tell time, he is left to his own devices. This is human nature in its most desperate form.", replied the doctor"
"How long do you expect to keep him there?"
"Oh, a year or so. Tomorrow we will remove the female and see how he reacts."
"What are you trying to discover?"
"The essence of our nature."
The End
What do you think? It's from my Contemplations. I decided to develop it into a short story.