She is
locked in a room. All white, all consuming. Walls cannot be defined from floors;
floors cannot be defined from ceilings.
Just her, no one else. She hears
voices, sees things, and feels emotions. All of these are familiar. She
breathes them in, consumes them, they are her only sustenance. Then they are gone. Just gone.
Then, before her is a box. It
floats there in the room. She inspects with her eyes, her fingertips, it is a
puzzle labeled Past. She examines it,
the more she sees the more foreign the pieces become. Few fit. Many fit. Nothing fits.
She twists and turns, contorts into
knots and through it all she wonders how her body doesn’t break, snap like
taffy stretched too thin, and pulled apart harshly.
Then she swirls and bends, her mind
is a puzzle, melting and changing, then she is the puzzle. Only now she is one
of those multi-colored cubes. Her face on one square, her hand on another, covering each space. Other parts spread across its façade, enveloping it.
Making her one dimensional, thin, like the taffy. She turns to turn herself,
into herself, moving and arranging the pieces into something, anything. But it’s
futile.
The word Why echoes through her mind. She then fades into pixels, they
gradually become smaller and smaller, until she is no more.
But she’s not over.
Why continues
to thump and boom like it’s part of a simplistic techno beat. The word plays
over and over again, the reverberations of its noise vibrating her, finding her,
crawling across her flesh even though she no longer exists on this plane.
WHY?
WHY? WHY?
She wakes, struggles out from the
covers and begins her day. The same day she lived yesterday, and the day
before.
WHY?
