Inside the Room

Day 1

I've been put in this room—no, this cell. The walls are a cold shade of gray, bare and unforgiving. The door is a solid sheet of metal, featureless and impenetrable. There’s no window, just a narrow crack in the wall that lets in a sliver of light, a cruel reminder that the world outside still exists.

They left me a pencil and a notebook. This notebook is my only outlet, my one connection to a semblance of normalcy. The pages are blank for now, but I wonder how long it will take before they’re filled with my thoughts, my fears.

The bed is a metal frame with a thin, hard mattress. It offers no comfort, just a place to sit and feel the chill seep through my clothes. The air is stale, unmoving, and each breath feels heavy and labored.

I can hear a distant hum—machinery, perhaps, or maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. The silence here is oppressive, smothering every thought and sound. I keep staring at the door, willing it to open, but it stands there, a silent guardian of my confinement.

The light from the crack shifts slightly as the day drags on, a slow crawl that marks the passage of time. It’s the only sign that time is still moving, that life outside continues while I am stuck in this stagnant void.

I have no idea how long I’ll be here. The uncertainty is a constant, gnawing presence. For now, all I can do is write, and watch the light fade as night falls.