Isolation

I’ve been locked in this room for two years. It all started pretty innocently. There was a newspaper ad for some willing test subjects to aid a reclusive scientist in a study they were doing of the human race. The compensation was excellent, especially because my mother and I weren’t exactly the most wealthy people. We called the number listed on the ad, drove to the address we were given, and then realized that perhaps things were not as they seemed.

First off, the address led us to an unobtrusive site in the middle of nowhere. As we rolled into the parking lot, I dubiously asked my mother, “Are you sure we’re in the right place? This looks more like a killer’s home base than a laboratory.” My mother shrugged and smiled faintly. She was mute, but still wonderfully expressive with her gestures and emotions.

As we entered the building, a well-dressed receptionist greeted us. “How may I help you today?” she asked in a bored tone, not taking her eyes off her pink glittery phone. 

“We’re here for the scientific study,” I replied. “With Dr. Hershtel.” 

“Welcome, Sam. Go to room 117. He’s waiting for you there.”

As my mother and I turned toward the hallway, the receptionist wagged her index finger at my mother. “Not you, ma’am. The doctor specifically requested to just see Sam.” She smiled unconvincingly, flashing her unnaturally white teeth. “You can take a seat there.”

“I’ll be right back, Mom,” I reassured, patting her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”

My memory ends there. I don’t remember the walk to room 117, nor do I remember meeting the mysterious Dr. Hershtel. I think I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was in this room.

There’s nothing in here. Everywhere I look, there’s white. The only thing worth noting about the room is that there is no door. It’s solid white wall all around me. 

Even though there’s no door, somehow every time I wake up, there’s food waiting for me at the exact same spot. Always the same three bowls - one full of cereal for breakfast, one full of plain rotini noodles for lunch, and one full of watery vegetable soup for dinner.

I once tried to stay up all night (at least, when I thought it was night — there are no windows here to help me keep track of the days) to see how the food gets here. I watched the spot with half-lidded eyes for hours (at least, when I thought it was hours - there are no clocks here to help me tell time), yet the food didn’t appear. I didn’t get any food for the whole day that day, so I resolved to just let the food appear and stop questioning the means to the end.

I’ve been defeated. I’m angry, sure, at what happened to me because of a simple newspaper ad. I’m sad, sure, because I can’t see my mother anymore. I’m worried, sure, that I’m going crazy.

But above all that, I suppose I’m happy. No, not happy. Satisfied. Even if I were released from this room, where would I go? My mother, in all honesty, is probably dead. I don’t have a glamorous life to go back to; it’s rather the opposite. I no longer have to worry about how to keep my mother and I alive, or how we’ll get our next meal. My meals are guaranteed here, and there’s no responsibility.

I think I’m crazy, or at least going crazy. I found a note in my cereal yesterday that said, “Beware.” After I read it, it disappeared from my trembling hand and I haven’t seen it again since. 

They injected me with this purple serum. My head got really cloudy after I touched the note and I couldn’t think straight. The purple stuff clears the cloud away and lets me think again. 

There’s nothing to do here but think. My brain usually wanders from subject to subject aimlessly, but ever since I got that note yesterday I can’t help but wonder. Was it real? Or have I reached a new level of madness?

My head has been getting cloudy more and more often to the point where I don’t know the difference between my imagination and reality.

I got another note. It read “We got your mother. Your turn.” 

I haven’t gotten injected with the purple serum ever since after I got that first note. 

The cloud in my brain is huge. Sometimes the cloud has orange stripes like a tiger, or on other days it’s stormy. The cloud morphs into faces too - they laugh at me and make fun of me. Sometimes the faces even write threatening notes to me. 

It’s getting harder and harder to think clearly. I can’t remember anything. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing here. Sometimes I see sparkly animals in bright colors. Other times, I see evil monsters who try to get me.

The witch in all white is going to kill me.

I found something in my rotini noodles. Hidden cleverly in the bottom of the bowl was the familiar purple serum.

I wasted no time injecting the serum. I can think clearly now, and I’m trying to figure out a way to stop this madness. 

I think the only way to get out of this mess is to kill myself. I’ve got nothing to lose. 

“Dr. Hershtel, she’s waking up.”

“Just as planned. Is everything prepared?”

“Yes, sir.”

I open my eyes warily, expecting to see the same white wall. Instead, I see a young man with an orange beard watching me intently.

“How do you feel, Sam?” he asks, taking out his notepad. “You were excellent in the simulation.”

I stare at him for a long while.

“What the actual fuck?” 

“Ah, confusion. It’s a common symptom, especially if you spent a long time in the simulation. Four hours, I believe. Most people only last an hour at most.”

I stare some more at him.

“The scientific study. You agreed to enter the simulation where we incorporated multiple factors, such as isolation and insanity, to test your resilience,” he prods.

My mind is completely blank. My instincts are telling me that the doctor isn’t lying, but what he’s saying is so unbelievable.

“I don’t believe you. You’re just one of the faces in my head. How do I know this isn’t a simulation?”

“Well, there’s no way to tell, exactly. All of us could be in a simulation, and we wouldn’t know it. But you have my word that, to the best of my knowledge, you are out of the simulation you willingly and knowingly entered.”

I can’t help it. I lunge at the doctor and his annoying orange beard and punch him square in the face. I hear the sickening crunch of his nose, and I feel a malicious glee rise within me. Then, the hysterics set in.

“What kind of sick monster are you, to make some simulation where the person is literally insane?”

Dr. Hershtel cradles his nose. “I will have you know, Sam, you willingly, might I even say eagerly, accepted to undergo the simulation. As I see it, no harm, no foul. Now, if you’ll excuse me, please leave the site immediately. You are no longer welcome,” he adds, glaring ferociously. “Tammy, what are you doing? Get over here and help me fix my nose, you fool!” The bored receptionist from earlier rushes over to the doctor and starts bustling around.

I feel sick, confused, and angry. I begin to shake with helplessness and feel darkness wash over me.

When I wake up, I’m at home. My mother is knocking on my door, letting me know that I need to get up now to make dinner. It’s the same thing she’s always done every day.

Right?