CELL

/ ONE /

Our senses tell us where we are. In a way, they can tell us who we are. How we see, taste and smell. How things feel. Cold isn't a chill to everyone. Pain is agony to some and a dull ache to others. Our senses open up the world to us in ways we will, potentially, never be able to define fully.

Without them, we are lost. We are helpless.

We are alone.

"Wh... What?"

He was sure his eyes were open but, for a moment, couldn't tell for sure. The darkness was absolute. A complete absence of... everything.

At first, he felt as if his senses had died or the air had vanished, apart from that within his lungs. Was this what a sensory deprivation tank might feel like? Suspended in water that quickly became nothing, while sucking the world from your mind? It was disorientating. He was floating in the vastness of space and was waiting for the vacuum to consume him. But...

He realised he could feel something beneath him and wondered if it had always been there. He'd just forgotten how to tell. It was hard. Cool, but doing its best to be cold. Metal.

The floor, for gravity insisted it was such, brought him back to reason. He wasn't floating and his senses, though they'd briefly fled, were returning. He was laying down. The flooring gave emotional comfort from its presence, if not physical. It was something to touch. Something to prove himself to himself – that he existed. He pushed himself up to sitting, inducing a wave of head throbbing vertigo. After another few moments, which he knew could be precious and was wary of losing, the world righted itself and his up and down settled into their correct places. The darkness made them unsure if correct was actually correct, but they made their best guess.

Looking around was pointless, but he did so anyway. Perhaps there'd be a light or a glow. A difference to the absence of illumination that would show the world had gone the way of the light. Grey, or at least less black, against the night. There was none. Bending down, close enough for his nose to be in contact with the floor, he hoped to see a change in the night. A glint of the metal, reflecting off a stray blush that had taken a wrong turn on the way to glorious sunshine. The colour trying to push through the nothing to celebrate its own existence. It was pointless.

Perhaps he was blind?

His hearing still he could hear his breathing. It meant he was also alive. He tapped his fingertip against the floor, being rewarded by the sound of its impact, though it felt odd. He ran his left index finger over the end of his right, then over each finger. He always kept his fingernails, along with nasal and brow hair, trimmed. Fastidious about his personal hygiene, the fact his fingernails were now a good quarter of an inch longer than they should be was...

Concerning.

Frightening?

No. He wasn't afraid, not really. Confused, yes. A trace of trepidation stroked his now unkempt brow, but its touch was tepid. He had yet to feel its heat slip into his body and wrap around his nerves, setting them afire.

"Hello?"

It was an obvious thing to say. He spoke the question rather than shouted. The imposing darkness defied him to raise his voice, and, besides, his voice was hoarse from a dry throat that he hadn't noticed until he'd tried to use it.

There was no answer. He hadn't particularly expected one, but hope stood tall within him. He did his best to force saliva into his mouth and swirled it around, using it to moisturise his lips with his tongue, and tried again.

"Hello!"

It was still far from a shout, but was, at least, more assertive. It demanded a reply, though none was forthcoming.