Signs and Silent Walls

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how long it has been since I woke up, two, or three hours maybe.

There was a knife near the bed I woke up on, and a guy tied up in a wooden chair in front of me. The room is completely sterile and seems almost new but at the same time, it felt centuries old.

I tried to talk to the other guy but he stayed silent. Every time I pace in front of him he gets startled a bit, but that’s the only reaction I get.

A sign in bold, stark red letters hung from his neck. ‘Do not release under any circumstances.’

“What can be the reason we are here?” I thought as I played with the knife in my hand. And I’m not an idiot, of course, it’s obvious why the knife is here, I won’t do it I’ll tell ya now.

“Hey,” I snapped my fingers a few times and shouted at him from the bed, “Do you know why we are here?” I tried asking once more, but he kept on giving me the silent treatment. I rolled my eyes.

“What’s your problem?” I glared and raised my voice.

A hatch in the ceiling opened, and a sign slowly lowered from the darkness, ‘Take a hit’ the sign said, written in pink neon.

I tilted my head slightly and sighed, “No,” I replied, to whom I don’t know, “I won’t do it.”

Ah fuck it, I’ll just rest my head and pass the time until something will happen.

The twisting pain of hunger woke me up, and my stomach bellowed like a beast prowling for prey.

The man was still there, tied up and blindfolded. Beside him, there was a crystal-clear box screwed to the floor with a reflective tray inside. The food on it didn’t look very appetizing but I was so hungry I would eat anything. Well, almost anything I thought as I looked at the tied man.

The same hatch in the ceiling opened, and the sign mechanically slid down. I sighed. What could it be now?

‘Hungry? Slap = food’.

I turn to look at the man, he must have deserved to be here, he must be a prisoner of some sort.

I place my hand gently on my stomach, the hunger won’t pass by itself.

Just one weak slap would be fine.

I slapped him, and the clap’s echo reverberated between the walls making me surprised by the amount of force I used.

I gasped, looking around as if I was the perpetrator.

The man adjusted himself slightly after the slap but didn’t give any sign of pain, almost as if he was a breathing ragdoll.

The translucent box opened, and I ravaged the food, I didn’t care about the taste.

I took the tray to my bed and stayed vigilant. I kept eating while keeping my eyes on him.

The next thing I remember I woke up to a children’s rhyme that came out of speakers that were well blended into the white walls. When did I fall asleep? And for how long?

The tied man had a different sign now: ‘Murderer’ was written on it.

I was taken aback, my heart started to beat faster. I am watching over a murderer. Even with the new fact that came to light, I can’t think because of this damn music.

It was repetitive and quite annoying, the same line over and over again with an unbearable rhythm and tune.

I think it has been hours and the music won’t stop. I guess I’m going insane.

“I can’t anymore please make it stop,” I cried and begged.

The same hatch in the wall opened. Why is my mouth starting to salivate?

The sign mockingly said: ‘One cut to stop the music.’

“You sick mother fuckers, I won’t do it” I screamed behind the mask of tears.

“How are you not losing your mind?” I wailed at the man, almost blaming him.

I let the music continue, the same line over and over and over.

For hours.

“I can’t, I can’t take it any longer,” I mumbled to myself while looking at the stark white wall.

I determinedly grabbed the man’s wrist, I tried to search for his eyes behind the black blindfold, and he raised his head towards mine. Somehow.

I swiftly cut his wrist, and the blood flowed to color the black and white world he and I were trapped in.

I step back, and the music stops.

The silence was loud, almost like an entirely new rhythm.

My tears dropped to the pool of blood, my knees went weak.

I had to get back to my bed, it was all overwhelming.

I hated him.

The weeks went by, well I guess those were weeks.

Somehow his arm got bandaged and I started to get the menial tasks of taking care of this … criminal.

Showering him, taking him to relieve himself, feeding him.

I tried to keep my distance from him at any time possible, I didn’t really know how dangerous he was.

This morning, or night, I don’t really know, was different. 

The floors were installed with drains. I don’t really understand how I don’t notice these changes happen while I sleep.

The prisoner was still there, tied up to the same chair.

I get close to him and give him a smug smile, even though he can’t see me.

I became used to his presence here.

I shoved him and tipped him over, his head hit the floor. I don’t know why I did that but I felt he deserved it, he probably killed plenty of people.

The sound of water pumps broke the sounds of the prisoner gasping for air, and ice-cold water started to rise from the floors.

Another sign dropped from the ceiling: ‘His death will buy you time.’

I looked at him, I won't get down to his level, but if it’s me or him, it will be me.

I had to try other solutions, I brought him to sit straight up so he wouldn’t drown. I took my shirt off and looked for the exact place on the floor that the water rose from. But somehow I found none.

The water levels are soaring fast, already at my waist.

I think the choice has to be made, after all, he’s a criminal.

I searched for the knife and gripped the wet handle with resolve.

I grabbed the back of the prisoner’s neck and drove the knife to his heart.

I looked around, the water stopped coming in.

The blood flowed and turned into a cloud of crimson that slowly drained with the water.

A voice came from the speakers: ‘Subject 147 failed, initiate round 42’

“Wait what?”

A hidden door in the wall smoothly slid open, and three black-suited agents marched in. I tried to step back but they were fast.

Two of them grabbed me by my wrists and the third approached my neck with a syringe filled with bright blue liquid. I tried to kick the syringe from his hand, maybe I’ll be able to make it.

But he was good.

He blocked my pathetic attempt of resistance with no effort and drove the inhumanly big needle into my neck.

I fought to keep my eyes open, but my consciousness started to drift away, it was stronger than me.

…

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how long it has been since I woke up, two, or three hours maybe.