Rick Allison stumbled, tripped, fell, rolled, then hit the wall sending waves of pain shooting through his back and neck. The mountain of a man, who tossed him into the room ever so gently, was dressed all in white. No surprise there. Everything in this place was white. The man, who must be an orderly of sorts, stepped back through the opening in the wall and Rick watched, dumbstruck, as the wall seemed to waver at the edges and fill this hole. He stood up, temples throbbing, and knees shaking, and shuffled his way over to where the entrance once was. He touched the wall gingerly, and his hand recoiled when it made contact with solid matter, almost surprised to find that the wall was really there. He went forward again and continued to probe the wall while his brain was struggling to find a logical explanation for what he had just seen. He was seeing the wall, and feeling the wall, but he couldn't grasp the fact that the wall was now there where it once had not been. He became frustrated with the puzzle and set it aside for later. The perfect condition of the room was something he had never before witnessed, and for good reason. He began making observations about the room he was in. It was a circular room. Not too big, but not too small. The white walls, floor, and ceiling were almost blinding and seemed to be reflecting great quantities of light from an unseen source. He ran his hand across the wall as he walked around and noticed that there was no flaw that he could feel. He closed his eyes and let the sensation of the perfect wall calm what was left of his nerves. His bare feet on were feeling the same sensations as his hand was as he traveled the perimeter of the room. He slipped into a state of euphoria and was on the floor fast asleep before he knew what had happened. The air had a crisp bite to it. Almost as if he was out of doors, yet it was lacking the smell of life that it is always so full of. It wasn't dead, no, far from it, it simply lacked life. He awoke surprisingly refreshed. It was as if the stiff floor had yielded under his constant weight and supported his body through his little romp in dreamlessland. But, of course, when he looked, the floor was perfectly flat. Figures. He stood up and stretched, trying you grab the stars and pull them down to him. He sat back down and leaned up against the wall. He looked across the room at the other wall. Or at least he tried to. There were no shadows in the room. Not even his own. He dismissed this phenomenon as internal lighting. That was probably why they seemed to bright, as well, because they were the light source. He slid up the wall and oriented himself towards where he figured the other wall was. He began walking and he held out his arms as feelers to prevent him from running into the wall. Twelve steps. That's a six-step radius. About .7 meters to a step. 4.2 meters multiplied by 3.14, that's about 13.2 meters. 13 square meters of personal space. 13 spare meters topped with a ceiling that he couldn't touch. The world suddenly felt very small. He fell asleep again. He awoke again, feeling refreshed yet unfulfilled. He sat up and stared into the nothing above him. Maybe there was no ceiling. Maybe he was in a long column that extended up into forever. No. Probably not. When did he change his clothes? He wasn't wearing white when he first came here. Was he? He couldn't remember what he was wearing. Oh well, save that mystery for another day. He'll have plenty of time for it. He stared at nothing for hours. He was blind in a world full of light. He could see nothing, yet he could see everything. It seemed as if he was the only thing in existence. How did he come to this place? Can't remember. How he longed to see another person. It doesn't matter who it is. It could be his annoying roommate from college who never showered and smelled like the locker room. How long had he been here? Had he been here a few days? Probably. He decided that he wasn't going to keep track of time and he went to sleep again. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, he slipped into and out of consciousness. Passing time by pondering his prison. The perfect walls became a challenge as he tried to mar their surface but could not. Maybe he could splash some blood on something. The lack of reference points was driving him up the walls. Or was that the floor? He looked down at his nails. Gone. Why didn't he have fingernails? Oh well, he'd just bite a finger to draw blood. Where did his teeth go? What was going on here? When did these things happen? Never mind. He'd figure it out later. He scratched his head and found it bald. He found his whole body lacking hair. Interesting. He went to sleep. He woke up again, sprawled out across the floor and he stared up at the infinite ceiling. Thoughts drifted in ad out of his mind as he decided what he was going to do during this session of consciousness. As his mind wandered, he sat up and leaned up against the wall as always. He stood up and began what had become his favorite pastime: walking around the room with his eyes closed. He felt his way along the wall and concentrated on nothing. His hand was sliding over the wall as if friction did not exist between him and it and there was only pressure against his fingers. He enjoyed the uniformity of the wall. He slid his hand up and down and up and down in a familiar pattern. There was a bulge. His eyes snapped open and stared where the bulge would be and found an eye staring back at him. He jumped into the air and ran away from the eye slamming into the wall with a force reminiscent of his arrival into this white-hot hell. He slipped into his escape. He bolted up this time, aches and pains all over his body. His head snapped around to find the eye staring back at him, unblinking. He felt challenged. This had become his own private sanctuary of torture and here was this eye tainting his wonderful torment. Who did this eye think it was? It has no right to be here. He started a staring contest with the eye. The eye won and continued to stare at him, unblinking. It followed his every move, his every breath. Every gesture, every twitch, every heartbeat was witnessed by this eye. It saw his thoughts. It can't see thoughts, that's impossible. Is it? The constant staring and watching and taunting brought back a memory. The wallpaper and I are in a duel to the death. One of us has got to go. The eye never moved. The iris didn't dilate. The lid never closed. The veins never settled. It simply stayed. It protruded from the wall as a defying imperfection on the smooth surface. It trespassed onto his territory with a defying glance and an indifferent attitude. He had at least 50 cubic meters of space to call his own. Minus the bulge of the eye. What did it want? He knew what it wanted. It wanted his space. Well, it wasn't going to get his space. It wanted to get into his head. Well, he wasn't going to let that happen. If he had to chop off his head, that eye would not have it. He began screaming at the eye, enraged at the intrusion. His ranting had no effect. He threatened the eye, promising horrible pain and suffering and deaths beyond deaths. Apathy. If he had hair left, he would have pulled it out. His head looked ready to explode. Then he knew. He knew what the eye wanted. It didn't want his space. It didn't want his head. It didn't want his thoughts. It didn't want any of that. It wanted his life. Well, Rick decided then and there that it wasn't going to get it. He backed up his twelve steps. He set his feet firmly on the floor. The devious smile on his face was a painful show of emotions, but the joy of known victory was most distinguishable. He crouched into a ready position, ready for his clash with the eye. He set himself, and tasted the sweet nectar of triumph in the air. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and steadied himself for the act. His eyes locked onto the intruder and he broke into a print with a push of the wall. Time slowed. The air was molasses. He was lightning that could not go fast enough. He pushed harder, knowing he had won. He would be victorious. He closed the distance between himself and the enemy at a painful rate. It seemed to take years for the victory to come. His struggle would be wroth it, though. His sanctuary would be pure once more. At last, his superiority would prove true. He would rise victorious. He closed to within one meter of the eyes and was ecstatic. He stared down his resolute opposition. Then, in his time of glory, the eye blinked at him. Taken aback, Rick Allison faltered and collided with the wall head on snapping his neck. The wall opened and the orderly came in a announced, "Mr. Jones will see you now." Allison Richards stumbled, tripped, fell, rolled, then hit the wall sending waves of pain shooting through her back and neck...