Vice of Impatience

A blank whiteness flashed before his eyes, and he remembered nothing.

He saw nothing but white and felt nothing but pain. Laying on his back, the cold hard floor chilled him through his loose clothing. Ringing filled his ears, high pitched and whining it slowly softened as the hazy world around him came into focus. Soft edges became sharp corners while fuzzy black lines tightened to form regular square panels of creamy white. They were hard to see because of the powerfully bright light shining down on him.

Closing his eyes did nothing, the light so bright his vision was not black but aglow with a fiery orange hue, the only colour allowed in this black and white space. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes again, but he couldn’t look up for long as the glare only worsened the already skull shattering pressure built up behind his eyes.

He tried to shift but found his body almost impossible to move, his limbs feeling as if they were made of lead. It wasn’t only his body that was weighed down, but also his mind. A thick fog clouded his thoughts making them almost impossible to hold onto before they silently slipped behind the misty veil back into the realm of unconsciousness. Chasing his thoughts only made his head spin, making him feel sick.

The pounding headache began to subside, along with the rolling waves of nausea, giving him a chance to finally try to move. Dazed, he slowly sat up. His muscles screamed in agony with even the slightest movements. Squirming across the floor, he eventually bumped up against and slid up a smooth wall as icy as the floor. From his now seated position he had a look around.

Surrounding him were four plain white walls rising from an equally plain white floor to meet with the while tiled ceiling. Scattered among the tiles were half a dozen panel lights softly humming while bathing the room in an uncomfortably bright glow. There was absolutely nothing other than himself inside this room. There were no windows. There wasn’t even a door. All around him was empty white space, the room barely definable as the uniform lighting melded everything together into an almost infinite white blend

Panic set in.  

Where am I? How did I get in here? How do I get out?

A thousand thoughts breached into his conscious mind all at once, rushing in like a raging flood. Bombarded by a so many questions, he was quickly overwhelmed. He doubled over and wretched, but nothing came out.

He spat out a glob of phlegm and took in a deep breath. The air was crisp and fresh despite the enclosed nature of the room. He could see no ventilation, but he knew there had to be some otherwise there would be a stale taste to the air. Thinking about it for a moment, he noticed there was a taste to the air. The faint lingering odour of disinfectant or bleach, not strong enough to be overpowering but present enough to be noticeable. It smelt clean. Too clean, almost clinical.

A sudden mechanical whirring caught him by surprise.

In the centre of the room a small, previously hidden hatchway opened. Rising from this pitch-black opening was a slender column atop of which sat a bright red button. The column rose to chest height and then stopped, the hatchway sealing around its base, leaving the vacant chamber quiet once again.

The island in the middle of the room stood proud and tall, waiting expectantly. The red button so sharp in contrast to the pallid room it had a ghostly glow to it. Curiosity piqued, with careful wobbly steps, he let go of the sturdy wall and drunkenly staggered towards the button, almost tripping over his own numb feet several times. He felt like a baby deer taking its first steps in a cold and unforgiving alien world. Wet slaps echoed throughout the chamber as his warm flesh peeled off the cold floor with each step, leaving greasy footprints behind.

Once at the column, he rested his weight against it. The short walk over had been more than enough exercise for his tired legs. The button was staring up at him, enticing him to touch its shiny plastic surface. He almost obliged its request, his sweaty hand looming ready to depress the button, but a black screen had made itself apparent on the wall opposite him, diverting his attention to the message displayed upon it in large bold letters.

ARE YOU SURE?

His hand trembled slightly as he held it above the button. He looked down at the button and then back at the big screen. Was he sure? He thought he was. He definitely wanted to press the button, that was clear enough from the fact he was moments away from doing so.

But why did he want to press the button? That was a question he wasn’t sure he could answer. He didn’t know what it would do once he pressed it, but he was about to anyway. He felt compelled to press it, like he was supposed to. What else was there to do in this blank space?

He moved his hand down ever so slightly but pulled back at the last second, keeping it hovering over the button.

He then took his hand away and the screen disappeared. Startled, he almost fell down but managed to catch himself on the column.

Where had the screen gone?

Finding his footing, he swung round the column and made for the wall. His legs felt stronger and he could move without so much pain as before. He approached the wall and slid his palm across it, feeling along its length for any indentations or other indications as to where the screen had gone. It felt as smooth and cold as the wall he was leant against when he came too in this strange white cube.

Rapping his knuckles against the surface at various points to try and determine a difference in material yielded nothing but sore hands. He even pressed his cheek against the wall, scanning down its length for any perceptible peaks or troughs. There were none. If he couldn’t feel them, he was certainly not going to see anything either.

Dumbfounded, he returned to the column when an idea struck him. Slowly, he moved his hand towards the button again.

Nothing.

Interesting. He gently lowered his hand so far as to touch the button, but still nothing happened. Casually tapping it with his fingertips didn’t elicit a response from the hidden screen. Only the second the impulse to truly push the button flashed through his mind was the screen was back, displaying the same message as before.

ARE YOU SURE?

So it wasn’t his proximity to the button, but rather his intention to press it that drew out the response. He withdrew his hand but remained fixated on the idea of pressing the button. The message stayed up on the screen, flickering slightly but otherwise unchanging.

A bead of sweat rolled down his brow which he quickly wiped away. Was it getting hotter in here? He was certainly sweating more but the floor still felt chilly to the touch. Maybe it was an infection. His muscles had been aching and his head was still sore. Coupled with the sweating, it felt as if he was coming out of some type of flu or cold. Him being sick would also explain the bleach-like smell that still hung in the air. How sick was he if he had been placed in this quarantine room? It must be bad. Another bead of sweat tried to run down his face but was wiped away. Maybe the button would call a doctor or give him some medication or something. He wasn’t to know unless he pressed the button.

The red glinting of the button teased him, such an alluring presence drove him to press it but every time he went to make a move, his eyes automatically returned to the screen.

ARE YOU SURE?

What a taunting question. It was as if the room was mocking him. Asking such a condescending question, making him look like an idiot made his blood boil. Who was this that was so sure of themselves and certain the he himself was to make some mistake? Why did they not trust in his intentions? Was it not a sound and rational idea to press the button if there was no other obvious object in which to interact with within the confines of this limited space? He sure thought it was. But that message. It sowed unwanted doubt in his mind. It made him wonder whether the message was goading him into making a mistake by having him press the button, or it was to throw him so off balance that he could never press it and remain trapped in this room for eternity. Whatever the true intentions were, it made him rethink and question himself at every turn. He didn’t like to be questioned, especially not by some damn screen. Had he something to throw at it he would have, but he didn’t so he couldn’t.

Out of spite he decided he wouldn’t play this stupid game any longer. He turned, walked to the far side of the room and sat down, staring back at the screen and the button. There he would sit, arms and legs crossed, until that confounded message went away. It’s true the message had faded more since coming over to the other side of the room, but it remained.

So began the war of attrition between man and screen.

He didn’t know how long he had sat there, it could have been many hours or merely a few minutes, but after a while his brow loosened and he dropped his scowl, opting for a more relaxed look as his face had begun to hurt. His arms and legs were aching, the blood flow impeded by being crossed for so long. The worst part was that his bottom had gone numb. The cold, hard floor was in the least bit accommodating to his poor bottom. He could not sit there for much longer, but the message was still there, flickering away.

“I can’t take this anymore!” his hoarse cry stuck in his dry throat as he flung himself off the floor and made for the button with such haste that he buckled under his flailing legs and crashed to the floor.

A bright stream of claret exploded from where his nose met the floor. The crunch was deafening and the pain searing. He pinched his nose and tried to stem the torrent of blood that gushed like a raging river down his face. Tears welled in his eyes but he could still see through them to the glorious red button and the intrusive message behind it.

Almost slipping in his own blood, he stormed over to the button, a bloody trail dripping in his wake.

This time, without a second thought, slamming his bloody fist down on the tantalising red plastic, he pressed the button.

The screen flashed a new message before disappearing into the white wall, the words burning in his mind, building a pressure behind his eyes, threatening to burst his skull wide open.

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

It was all too much for him and he felt himself falling.

A blank whiteness flashed before his eyes, and he remembered nothing.