How does it feel to be trapped in a white box?
The White Room
Winner of "Invalid Item" Round 2
Legs crossed and knife gripped tightly in his hand, he sat in the dried bloody mess that was on the walls and floor of the doorless, bare white room.
The mess was there when he woke up all that time ago, without day or night he had no idea how long, and he had no idea where the blood had come from. Not that he was thinking about that anymore. Over time, the white of the room and the permanent chill of the air it contained, had finally broken him.
He rocked back and forth like a madman as he whispered to himself inaudibly. His knuckles were white through the pressure exerted by his grip on the bread-knife handle. His eyes, wide with fear, darted in every direction they possibly could, as though searching for something that couldn‘t be seen in the small, but bright, box room.
The blood that had splashed onto the clear white walls had ran down, leaving a not-quite-straight red trail to the white shiny floor tiles, where a small pool of blood had formed.
He suddenly jumped to his feet and let out a grunt as he swung the knife through the air at nothing. The sound he made broke the absolute silence of the bright, empty white room.
Spinning on the spot, he began to swing the knife as though something was there that he was trying to swat away. Each time he swung his knife wielding arm, he let out a grunt that seemed to slice and cut away at the quiet.
He began spinning on the spot, searching, his head jerking from right to left, up and down, it was as if he knew there was a presence in the enclosed room with him.
As he swung his knife at nothing but air, a faint shadow seemed to appear behind him on the white wall. It was barely visible, but when looked at closely it could be seen. It was the shape of a woman, almost featureless. It was only if you looked closely you could spot that there were facial features. The entire figure was white, almost invisible in the bright white box room.
The figure leaned forward and breathed on the man’s neck.
He spun, swing the knife wildly in the direction of the figure, hitting it, but the knife had no effect. It passed straight through the head of white woman, who seemed to smile to herself as the imprisoned male tried his best to slice her. He could obviously see she was there.
A long, almost invisible arm was raised and slapped the man across the cheek, knocking him to the ground. He immediately got back to his feet and swung his blade once again in the direction of the ghostly apparition.
Again the knife passed straight through her. As it did so, faintly visible wisps of what looked like smoke left the figure's body as though the man was slicing at nothing but mist.
The figure disappeared, as it had done on numerous occasions. It always came back though, never damaged and always smiling when he attempted to kill her.
A faint sound came from the walls of the box room. This was new to him, this had never happened before, not once in the entire time he had been trapped.
He dropped the knife to the floor, it landed with the high pitched sound of crashing metal, and he began to move around the room, banging on the walls and shouting to whoever was out there. His hopes were that they would hear him and release him.
There was no response. All that happened was a small black slit opened in one of the white walls and water was poured through. For a moment he panicked, but then realised he could drink this to quench his intolerable thirst. Water was usually splashed on the floor when he woke He had no idea where it came from, but he would lap it up like a dog to quench his thirst.
He bent to the ground and began to lick at the liquid that had pooled on the white tiles below the slit in the wall.
He didn’t see the other slit that opened directly beneath him without making a sound. He didn’t even feel it as the blade came out and sliced his throat as he drank, leaving his blood arced across the clinical white walls and running down to the floor, mixing with the water and creating a red pool.
He felt himself choking on his own life fluid. Before the choking could kill him though, he collapsed to the ground faint because of blood loss. He then bled to death, another bloody mess on the white tiles that would dry out in time.
Outside the cell, the executioner typed on his computer.
Sentence: Six Months in the haunting cell with the ghost of the woman he killed and then the death penalty.
Blood arcs red across
clinical white walls, and then
runs down to puddle.