The Broken Cat (Horror Shorts)

White

There was white.

White was everywhere.

It was all she had ever known.

Right?

No... that can't be right. She... she knew something else, once.

Once, a very long time ago, she had been somewhere else.

Or maybe it was yesterday she had come here.

It was hard to tell time in the white room.

What was time?

At this point, it seemed more a social construct than an actual sense of the when. White was all that filled her eyes, nearly blinding, but not quite.

If she could recall correctly, she had... she had helped make this place, yes... she... or did she just make that up to pass the time?

Hours... days... years... minutes... time had all but lost meaning. She could have been here for only an hour and not have known it.

At one point, she recalled, she had tried to count the seconds. But then she realized how useless that was.

Time.

The word had lost meaning now, more or less just a sound coming out of her mouth.

How did the saying go...? If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around to hear it, does it really fall?

If no one's around to hear her screams, does she even make any noise at all?

Is she even actually making sound, huddled in the corner of her square prison.

White.

White was all she knew.

White was everywhere.

White was time.

There is only white.

There is only white.

There is only—

You're repeating yourself.

Maybe she'd had this conversation with herself before, but who could tell? There was no time.

No sound.

There was only white.

No... there is only white. She did not help make this, white has always been here. She has always been in the white.

Move away from the white.

What is there to move on to? There is only white. There is no sound. There is no... no. Only white.

A sound caught her ear.

It was her. She had been mumbling earlier, but now she was screaming.

But was she really?

Pull yourself together! You're going to need all the strength you can get for when you get out of here!

Oh what's the use. She's not getting out of here. She can't get out of here. She can't get out of the white.

The white... she loved the white.

She hates the white.

She breathes heavily, alone in her solid white chamber.

There is only white.

You can't move away from the white when it's all there is.

Time is a social construct. There is no 'social' here. There is only white.

There is white.

White is everywhere.

It was all she had ever known.

Right?

——————

This one's more of a short poem than a story, but I wanted to share it anyway. I've never been put in white room torture so I wouldn't know, but I think I got the point of mental instability across.

White torture, often referred to as "white room torture," is a type of psychological torture technique aimed at complete sensory deprivation and isolation. A prisoner is held in a cell that deprives them of all senses and identity.

Word count: 530