THE AFTERHOUR

I. The Void:

Quiet, a void. Those were the only words he could draw from his current situation, the man doubted more would come to him even if he really tried. Then another thought occurred: how long had he been staring indefinitely into this void before that previous thought popped into his head? His arrival couldn't seem to be traced back, it was just as sudden as the beginning of a dream. It could as easily have been a minute as it was an hour, or maybe even longer? He decided to put a cap on that time estimate, as any longer would seem frightening.

The man looked around, and in every direction, he was greeted with the same shade of darkness. No, not just darkness, but a total lack of everything. He tried to close his eyes, but nothing changed, it was like whoever painted this room decided to choose Closed-Eye Black as their choice of color. He swallowed nervously as he assessed the situation, the way he was taught to do whenever he would find himself in a pickle. Or at least, that was what he thought he was taught to do, his memory was just as much of a blank sheet as how he got here. Apparently not even his own name came to mind, which was, in all of its seriousness, alarming.

He nervously took a glance at himself. Surprisingly, it was the only thing that he could see worth a damn around here. He was immediately taken back as he held up his hands: They were glowing in an aura of faint white light. It seemed like he really was the only source of light here, but it didn't seem to be doing him much good. And by that, he meant any kind of light or glow that was radiating from his body was not able to illuminate anything else around him. It was almost like the hungry nothingness around him was devouring that very light.

The man tried to have another look at his arms, which were held up at chest level. There was something unreal about them, it was almost like his brain was in a haze and wasn't able to recognize its own body parts. He could see them clearly, but at the same time, they just seemed blurry, like bad graphics from an old pixelated game. The man smiled at that thought, it seemed like not all of his memory was lost. Then he realized that he was only trying to distract himself, as there was not really anything that he found funny in this particular circumstance.

He shifted his glance down to his feet, which were bare and emitting the same light as his hands. But strangely, he couldn't really feel his feet on the dark surface, he had to dig his toes down to check that he was really standing on something and not being suspended magically in the air. He was also wearing white clothing: Long white trousers and a white T-shirt. They were simple and plain, with no noticeable features. The man felt like someone had put him in these clothes, as even though he remembered very little about himself, it was almost a certainty that he would have chosen something a bit more lively.

The man tried to walk forward, towards nothingness, only to find out that he couldn't. Violently, he tried to shake free, his chest suddenly sunk, and he gasped for breath as though he were trying to escape a bad case of sleep paralysis, and by all accounts, there was no proof that this wasn't just that. Frustrated and scared, he tensed all the body muscles he had control of and accompanied that with an effort to twist and turn his body. And after a few seconds of struggle, he finally managed to get out of it. But still, it was proving to be a bit of a challenge. His first step was heavy, and as he pulled himself forward, he could feel the sensation to be similar to moving through a thick gel.

Another step.

His steps were missing the comforting click-clack noise that barefoot walking was famous for.

Another step.

He seemed to have eased himself out of that gel-like, near-paralysis environment, but even with freedom of movement, his situation had not improved.

Another couple of steps.

Ever tried walking around with your eyes closed? Not being able to see aside, you're always carefully advancing, arms raised sideways to avoid bumping into anything. And there's always that invisible, primitive fear in the back of your mind, wallowing in that pool of blackness. That was just about what he was doing, even though it was just short of absolute certainty that there was nothing for him to bump into.

And another step.

The darkness and silence crept inside his head. What was the use of staggering around this void, blinded and deafened? Who put him here? What happened to his memories? A wave of anger started to well up inside him, even though it might have been a sense of panic that he was experiencing. What was going on here?

Having realized the weight of the impossible and hopeless situation that he was in, the man just decided not to take another step.

At that moment, it finally dawned on him what needed to be done. Something that anyone sane or reasonable would have done much sooner than he did. He had no excuse for his delayed reaction, other than the fact that he had had as much control over this as one would a dream. But alas, common sense took over and he did the only thing he could, the only thing that made sense.

He freaked out.