THE ROOM WITHOUT A DOOR (PART I)

  I opened my eyes. How long had I been sleeping? Had I even been sleeping? I searched the depths of my memory and eventually was certain that there were no remnants of lying down to try to sleep the night previous. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light surrounding me, I began to realise that I was in a completely unfamiliar room, the walls painted a blood-red, a colour I had never seen adorning the inside of a building. I saw framed pictures lining the walls but they were hard to see, due to the single, dimly lit bulb that was hanging from the roof. It was swinging, causing shadows to dance across the red stained walls, despite the fact there was no breeze to speak of.

  I began to desperately piece together the jigsaw puzzle of my situation. It seemed I was safe; there was no immediate threat present. I still maintained all four limbs; and it certainly felt like no orifice had been penetrated; a certain positive. But as my eyes slowly adjusted to the eerie orange glow of the small room, I came to an alarming realisation. Despite the beautiful artwork littering the walls, the massive queen sized bed I had arisen from, the room I was in did not have a door. No windows, air vent, nor a man-hole within the ceiling of the room. I instantly panicked, not in any physical way, but I felt as if my mind was imploding into itself, all logical thoughts ceasing as if I was mentally speechless. I began to study the room surrounding me with greater scrutiny, and an unsettling vague sense of familiarity washed over me. I have seen these paintings, somewhere in the past. One of those days, one of those rare occasions when I ventured outdoors into that world of… People.

  Months ago, for the first time in many weeks, I had tasted the fresh air of mother nature and she had, for the first time in my life, filled my lungs with hope. I stared at the sky for hours on end, and admired the incredible blue, the amazing texture and movement of the clouds. I saw the branches of the trees swaying in the wind and I felt at one with nature. l walked through the public art gallery which was filled with the magnificent works of artists past, stimulating my soul like nothing previous.

  The paintings in this room were not any I saw at that gallery – disturbingly they all seem to be distorted versions of the beauty I saw that day. A beautiful, painstakingly rendered imaged of a forest with almost purple, snow-capped mountains in the background stared at me as if it had eyes. I then realised that the painting did indeed possess a pair of eyes, eyes that were watching my every movement. I jumped backwards and let out some type of yelp as I saw the eyes blink. I closed my own eyes and looked away. Next to this painting was one of a women’s face that would have been beautiful, had she possessed a pair of eyes that the painting to my left seemed to have stolen. Next I saw a framed squared of pure black, with nothing else except a single line of blood leaking down the entire painting, moving and creating a growing puddle on the floor.

  Questions pounded my brain into submission. What is this? What am I here? How could I have even entered this fucking room!? Am I awake? Is this some sort of punishment for my behaviour, a sick simulation of some sort? As much as I hate them for it, I probably deserve it, though my memory isn’t being of much use to me as I have no idea what I have done. How else should a conspiring, manipulative bastard be treated? Their doctors had labeled me insane with delusions of grandeur, in addition to being in a state of ‘permanent psychosis’; a disgusting, amoral being; an example of a disease to our kind.

The Unseen, while privately announcing my insanity, were punishing me for it.

***

  The ceiling fan in this inconceivable room was rotating as slow as imaginable, and I yearned to stop its movement as it created unbearable, dancing shadows, flickering thanks to the third world-like light bulb hanging by a thread from the dirty ceiling. I scoured the walls of the room as hard as I could, but a switch for the fan eluded me. It was permanently stuck on ‘one’, and the constantly slowly moving shadows were slowly eroding my sanity.

  My ears suddenly picked up a faint sound in the distance, somewhere. The words had no meaning, they seemed to be in a language other than my own, but I was in no doubt, I could faintly hear something. No… not something. Someone. Many ones. Uncountable ones. Unseen ones. Their voices were faint, but I could hear them, and I knew instantly that they were conspiring against me, gut laughing at the absurd situation that I found myself in, and the utter confusion that I was experiencing. There was no way I could make out any intelligible words, not because of a differing language, but because their words now were firing at an unbearable rate. Jabbering and conspiring constantly, the amount of voices I could hear were having serious effects, sending waves of unbearable pain down my spine as if I had been struck by lightning multiple times. While having a seizure.

  Now lying on the floor, I began studying these paintings from an upside-down perspective until suddenly the voices became louder and somehow even faster. There were so many of them talking so fast that I jammed my fingers in my ears to ward off the torture. But this somehow made it louder. Panic began to truly seep into my soul as the confusion rose to unimaginable levels. Were these voices in my head?? The volume knob was very slowly being inched up consistently as my sanity plunged further and further into the deepest of oceans. I was desperately searching my memory to point me to how I arrived here, to who it was torturing me. But my efforts were fruitless, always fruitless. I was in a door-less room. The entire concept was incomprehensible, it was logically impossible yet it was my physical reality. This was no dream, my arm red from pinching myself. I was glued and handcuffed to this awful room. This was my new life, my new reality.

written by jordan dodd ©