Ensemble of Shards

{15} You find yourself in a room

Samantha trying to be philosophical here without prior training.

Haha, but, if it causes your mind to wander and think about your own existence, it is your choice, you are a sentient, you have a free will. Comments are welcome.

To Jovi. Forgive me for not pursuing @fallacies as of the moment. But I do want to talk about philosophy ahaha, pray that I'll find time to do so :) Comments are again very welcome.

powered by: You find yourself in a room, the philosophical computer game by 2DArray, from which I borrowed the first line and title from :p; Ambrose Monk, character from crime-comedy series Monk

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legend:

Unnamed narrator | Author

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You find yourself in a room. Your vision clears, and you see that in front of you is a white wall. Golden sunlight reflects off from the stark white paint you're sure was just painted over the weekend because of their overpowering smell. 

Your mother was always sensitive to these kinds of smells, like the times when she refused to ride a taxi cab which a previous customer smoked in, or could barely step into your friend's apartment stocked with mothballs because they hadn't been in there for a year, and because her opinions always influenced you, you couldn't stand them, too. 

You are still staring at the newly-painted, chiffon-coloured, sunlit wall. After losing yourself in the memories of your mother through the train of thought the wall started chugging, you decide there isn't much useful to be picked up in the action of staring at walls, and look around you.

Still white walls. There is nothing much to note about the room you're in. But you try to get the idea of how large it is, walking around, figuring out the distance between this end to the other. It sure is quite big. You count the seconds to get to the other white end. Thirty-eight. When you were in the fourth grade, after classes, you had swimming practice. That's the time you took to make two laps using the freestyle stroke. 

You reach out to feel the paint. Smooth, no grooves, all perfection. The floor is the same. So is the ceiling. Even my muddy boots make no difference? you ask. You had to run out in the rain to get your brother's medicine when he forgot to buy it last Tuesday. Then something strange hits you. You look down to your feet and you aren't wearing any boots. But, you don't remember even taking them off on the welcome mat! 

Hang on a second here. When was the last time you actually remembered doing anything? You don't remember doing anything awhile ago. Or even yesterday. Well, I went out to buy Ambrose's cough syrup on Tuesday! you argue. But, when was Tuesday? You think yourself very odd, and feel quite unsettled. You immediately look around the white room again.  

Just a state of whiteness, clarity, perfection. There seems to be no entrance or exit. But which space did you wake up from, were you lying down, on your knees, or standing up? You don't remember now, because everything is the same, the room is a clean-cut box. Well, you don't want to dwell too much on this room. So you ask yourself the questions that are quickly looming like fast-collecting stormclouds inside your head.