The room, by Pascho Detorie Swarskofski

There is no light or sound. I have been awake for a little while. At first I waited until my eyes became accustomed to the light and my ears to the silence, but nothing came. I felt around with my hands and made out that I was in a small room, about six foot high and twelve across. The walls are padded. Am I in a mental hospital? That makes no sense at all. I shouted for a while but no one came. I would bang on a door, but found none. I take my mind back to where I was before this happened. My mind is sharp so I know I wasn't drugged. I was talking to Kate. She was telling me about her definition of a good boyfriend, I teased her about the number of required zeros he needed in his bank account. I liked Kate; she was easy going with a spiritual outlook on life, one where you could almost believe life is beautiful. It is of course, but I never had time for all that. I had responsibilities, I had goals; a fiery ambition for power and control. Not control of others but of myself and my demons and fears that threaten to claim me for themselves.

This box is the first time in a long time that I have stopped. I cant get out so I have resigned myself to the fact that there is nothing more I can do but wait. No point in wondering who put me here, as I can think of none. One moment I am washing my hands the next only this room. I don't feel like I have lost any memories in between the restroom and this one. Nothing makes sense.

Six weeks later

I have been in this room a long time, I have not been hungry or thirsty, and my beard has not grown. I have had time to reflect on my life and to ask myself many times where I am. The only answer is that I am dead. Is this my hell, trapped in a room with only my own thoughts for company? I quickly missed the life I had but never fully appreciated, until now.

Ten years later

Today was a good day. Drinks with Kate and her new boyfriend Jo. He is an interesting and fun guy;  perfect for Kate in every way. We ate earlier at my favourite noodle bar on Eighth Street. Jo was debating the morality of poodle salons and Kate was giggling as Jo pretended to take it very seriously. I was happy for her; she looked so complete.
I say my goodbyes and walk back to my flat. I am greeted by Oscar, my loyal golden retriever. He leads me to Helen my beautiful wife, who smiles as I pull her close,  hovering within kissing distance; smiling that big smile that told me I was loved.

I am suddenly in a in a small room, about six foot high and twelve across, it is pitch black and I hear no sounds. The walls are padded, am I in a mental hospital? That doesn't make sense. I shout but no one comes. I guess I have no choice but to wait