Darkness

All I remember is darkness. The last light I saw was when I first arrived. Arrived where, you might ask? I don’t remember. It’s been months, I think — the only reason I know I haven’t been here forever is because I still remember my life. My life was joyous: trees sprouted when I skipped by, the wind whispered Hello when I felt a breeze, and my house was a skyscraper compared to this small, dark box. I have questions, but with no one around, there are no answers.

Every day I take five steps in each direction of my confined prison to feel for any objects, but there is nothing besides walls and abyss. At first, I thought I was dead, as all the muscles in my body could not be seen, and I had not eaten or drank anything. That thought, however, quickly faded, as I could still feel pain when I crashed into a wall. I also thought this was a hallucination, but as months passed, it made no sense in reality. A thought that keeps looming throughout the outlandish meadows of my mindscape is that this is an X-ray box. You know, the one in doctors’ offices when you break a bone. “This is an X-ray box,” I said to myself, but in an attempt to rationalize my whereabouts, I just laughed, because this was one of my dumbest thoughts yet. But that laugh was the first sound I had ever made while in this box. I realized this and just stared for a minute to see if I could generate a response. After a minute passed, the wait seemed worthless, so I began to sit down. Suddenly, the room seemed to shift, and my voice catalyzed and ran around the small confinement. All I heard was my goofy laugh echoing through the walls, racing and shrieking. I covered my ears, and a while later, it stopped. All I could say—or wonder—was, what was that?