Nothing

A white room.

A small white cubic space.

Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. All perfectly smooth without any bumps, scratches, or other blemishes marring their perfect surfaces in any way.

Perfectly symmetrically sized in four feet in all directions.

There was no hunger, no thirst.

Devoid of anything. No bed, no toilet, no window, no door, not a single minute thing.

There was no night and no day, without light lit by a power source, the room somehow maintained the same level of brightness at a constant.

The naked occupant of this single room knew exactly how perfect it was. They had spent an enormous amount of time pouring over every little, excruciating detail that it held completely.

That's why they knew it was faultless.

Being so profoundly perfect meant there was not a single thing to stimulate their mental activity. All they had was their mind and these six, perfect squares.

There had been an analog clock mounted on the wall the first week.

That first week had been the easiest, looking back now. What had seemed like an eternity of hell, had only dissolved into an even greater torment afterward. Hell had seemed reassuring, even pleasurable, compared to what was endured now.

There were no smells. There were no sounds to be heard apart from the sound this person made. There was nothing to taste.

Only the sense of touch and pain.

Bashing on all of the walls, screaming bloody murder at the top of their lungs until they tore their vocal cords, and even bashing their head against any of the surfaces. Splitting their skull open numerous times in the process, the pain had been a relief, allowing them to process that they were still alive.

Feeling the pain had been a release. An indication that in the sterile room they existed in they weren't numb to everything.

Once that first week reached its conclusion, where the minute hand and hour hand met once more to begin the day anew... It vanished.

Bashing their head against a wall as they had done on numerous occasions by now...

Nothing.

No pain. No bleeding. No injury. Not even the sense of touch between the point of contact of head and wall.

They tried to break a finger but found they couldn't. The finger would physically not bend the way they wanted it to like a barrier prevented the action from occurring.

In desperation, anything, they bit down on a fingernail and attempted to tear it out with their teeth. Yet, something prohibited that action, and nothing happened.

Now, even the complete loss of the sensation of touch. That had disappeared along with the ability to commit self-harm to feel something.

They screamed, yet not even could they hear their voice anymore and their vocal cords refused to break.

Complete numbness.

Nothing.

With no timer to help count down the time, they had no way of knowing the complete period they had spent imprisoned in this white hell.

Nothing.

Except for their memories. Those they took a strong hold of and refused to let go.

Nothing.

Just the perfect white cell that was ever unchanging.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Feeling their sense of self slipping away, the person could do nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

######

######

In the beginning, they would dream. Dream about their past, present, and future.

Dreamed about a world outside this one, where they had a tangible existence, where they could feel the air fill their lungs when they inhaled and exhaled.

But soon, even those faded into nothing.

Those dreams became nightmares. An endless cycle of all the mistakes they had made, of all the failures they had endured, of all the pain they had caused others, especially a certain someone.

But even then, the nightmares appeared less and less. Soon they faded away completely into nothing.

Now, the times they slept, there were no dreams. There were no nightmares. There was simply nothing.

Nothing.

During the moments they were awake, they latched onto what memories they could recall. Experiencing the past joys they had endured, even the painfully depressing moments they had suffered.

Yet, over time, even they became more and more difficult to extract and shuffle through.

Until they were unable to be recalled whatsoever, returning to nothing.

Nothing.

Those memories they'd held so dearly, were gone, replaced by their own delusions.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Yet even those delusions faded over time, replaced by the white noise of nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

######

######

How long had it been?

The person looked at the same ceiling it had stared at for gods knew how long.

Who were they?

Not that it mattered anymore, who they had been was a lifetime ago.

Wasn't there something I was supposed to do? A promise I made to someone?

Something stirred in the person's chest. A slight bump, unnatural and irregular from the constant consistency of their hearts rhythmic beating inside their chest within their white world.

It had been so long since they had thought of something that had caused their perfect existence to be disrupted.

They tried to latch onto the memory.

A flash of blonde hair.

A flash of blue eyes.

A promise.

Broken and fragmented.

But as quickly as it appeared, the memory began fading. Mentally, the person clawed at the escaping, dispersing memory, desperate to drag back this strange thing.

It disappeared.

And so, they were absorbed back into the perfect existence of that white room.

For the first time in an unknown time, the person had found something but lost it.

So the person screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.

But no matter how much they poured their soul into the release, they felt, heard, saw, touched, and tasted nothing.

Nothing.

Because there was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

######

######

A white room.

A small white cubic space.

Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. All perfectly smooth without any bumps, scratches, or other blemishes marring their perfect surfaces in any way.

Perfectly symmetrically sized in four feet in all directions.

There was no hunger, no thirst.

Devoid of anything. No bed, no toilet, no window, no door, not a single minute thing.

There was no night and no day, without light lit by a power source, the room somehow maintained the same level of brightness at a constant.

The naked occupant of this single room knew exactly how perfect it was. They had spent an enormous amount of time pouring over every little, excruciating detail that it held completely.

That's why they knew it was faultless.

They felt, heard, saw, touched, and tasted nothing.

There were no dreams, no nightmares, nor memories.

And so, there was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.