Factory Reset | ✓

hunger

It took a while before my anxiety-fueled thoughts started to cool down.

After allowing my brain to go in every direction possible, including the ones where I thought multiverses were real and I had somehow crossed from one universe to another, I grew tired of thinking. I had reached the point of exhaustion and further rumination became repetitive.

My mental energy had reached an all-time low that I didn't think was possible. Somehow, I felt even more dead than I already felt — as if someone was about to lower me into my grave any second now. It was only then that the hunger pains began and I realized I hadn't eaten in a while.

My stomach felt like an abyss, and it growled as loudly as my internal screaming. When did I last eat? It felt like forever ago. Surely, wherever I was, someone would have to feed me. Even prisoners could rely on getting something resembling food on a regular basis, so why not me?

Why hadn't I been fed in all the time I've been here? Why had I been left to wonder? Or was it because I ran to feed my hunger for knowledge that my hunger for sustenance went ignored?

The more I focused on my hunger, the more the pain in my stomach grew until it was nearly unbearable. If I didn't find nourishment soon, this weak body of mine may not last long enough. How could I strive for more if I couldn't meet the basic requirements of being a human being?

As much as I didn't want to postpone my freedom, food would have to take priority for now. Maybe if I looked around more, I'd find a way to feed myself and then, resume the search.

The sooner I found a way out of here and back to my former self, the sooner I could let go of the here and now. Of the fear and confusion. Of the endless white walls and the emptiness within.

My lack of planning would be my undoing. Running made sense earlier, but running where?

I was lucky that when I came back to where I started, there was no one waiting for me. Next time, I wouldn't be as lucky. Next time, if I ended up back here again, anything could happen.

Daring to venture out again, I stepped outside the room, legs wobbly, and started walking. This time, I didn't run. I walked slowly, hoping that if I was careful, I'd find a pattern I missed earlier.

I didn't have to stare long at the walls before it jumped at me. Each of the doors had a label engraved in the wall next to them. Despite it being written using letters I could recognize, I couldn't decipher any meaning from it. It seemed to be written in some kind of code.

The bathroom that I was just in had the label TR42 written on the wall next to its door. The room a few feet away had the label of WR85. Each door I kept passing had equally confusing labels. After walking for a while, I eventually reached one that I could finally understand:

STORAGE

Although the door appeared to be closed from the outside, I knew that looks could be deceiving. I reached for the door handle, and to my surprise, it opened. A quick glance inside revealed that there was no one there. For now, it would be a safe place to investigate and rest.

As soon as I closed the door behind myself, the room lit up and the fluorescent lights that I had become so used to turned on. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, each filled with boxes. The middle of the room was empty — probably to give enough walking space between the shelves.

Towards the back of the room, there was a small window covered by thin white curtains. I walked over there, fascinated by the idea of something foreign. An outlet to the outside world.

It was hard to believe that one still existed — that a world continued to revolve and go through its motions while I remained dormant, waiting to see what would become of me. Where could one go from here? Either I'd somehow find a way out or I'd be sent back to the empty white room.