I stop wondering about what happened. Not much I can change about it from here anyway. I fold the paper with the banned message and hold it in my hand. It's the only thing here besides me. I'm not going to leave it behind.

I start walking forwards into the the white before me, over a floor I can't see. I see my feet moving, expanding as I put them down on the nothing, as if there's a floor, becoming slimmer again as I lift them up, but not a sound is made by my feet. I try shuffling them to create sound, but the only thing I hear are my thighs scraping together.

I bend through my knees and touch the "ground." It's firm but texture less, not slippery like glass. There is simply something there offering resistance, but no discern able clue what it's made of. An idea comes to my mind. It's a silly idea, but if it works for a madman in a box it might work for me.
I go down on my knees, bend through my arms, moving my head to the ground, my brown eye pointing upwards and slowly lick the ground. Then a few more licks to make sure.

"Nothing, how can it taste like nothing..."

I mumble to myself and get up. I start walking forward into the white nothing, playing thoughtlessly with the paper in my hand, letting it rustle to fill the soundless plane with sound. I just kept walking forward, hoping to find something somewhere. After what felt like an eternity I stopped walking. I wasn't tired, wasn't thirsty, which was strange. I must have walked at least for a few hours... or was it minutes? It had seemed like hours at least.

I craned my neck and tried to look up as far as I could see, but nothing seemed to change, or be different at all. I folded the paper as small as I could fold it and threw the package up as high as I could. It never encountered anything blocking it. I picked it up from where it had landed and clenched it tight in my hand, knuckles turning white. I felt despair welling up. Was this really the end? Banned from existence? Nothing to look forward to, only be able to think about what was lost?

Suddenly I heard something. Guitar chords. A mans voice singing. I felt hope blossom in my chest and ran towards the sound. I could discern words now!

But his brain had long ceased to function.
Which is why he is in this parable,
And lives an existence quite terrible.
And if you are not strong,
And keep playing along,
You too will become quite unbearable
You too will become quite unbearable

I saw a man standing there, seemingly listening to the music, not reacting to my approach even though I was naked and he wasn't. He wore a white buttoned up shirt and gray trousers. He looked like a typical office worker. The guitar music that seemed to come out of nothing played on, but the singing voice out of nothing had stopped.

I looked around, but all I saw was still white. I then looked up and saw two windows hanging there, in absolute nothing. I was about to ask the man besides me what is going on with this place, when he suddenly vanished. Just like that. One moment he was there, the other moment he was just gone. The guitar chords had stopped at the same time. The sudden silence felt like a wall pressing in from all sides.

I grabbed desperately at the air where he had stood, but there was nothing there! I looked up to the windows and they too had vanished. Despair set in with full force, I felt my hands trembling and pressed them against my body hard to stop the shaking. What if this had been my only chance to escape this white hell. This nothing everywhere, this white void.

I sat down and decided to wait. The despair I felt started to ebb away, fading into the background, not leaving. Maybe the man would return, or the windows would return. If they had appeared once, they might appear again. I lay there, naked on the nothing, looking at nothing, trying to imprint this memory of the music I had heard and the song so I wouldn't forget. Slowly the red spots where I had pressed my hands faded away as I waited.


About the author


Bio: I'm a coder at heart, but I also like other creative activities. Here on royal road I try my hand at writing. I'm not the best at it, but that's a hobby for you. I hope you will like my writings.

[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

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