You awaken to the persistent tick, tick, tick of a clock. The room is bright, too bright. You squint your eyes as the fog of sleep lifts. You absorb the unfamiliar surroundings; three floor-to-ceiling windows enclose you, hitting your sensitive eyes with light. Outside, you see a large field. In the distance, there are trees dotting the horizon between the vibrant, blue, cloudless sky and the contrasting grass.
As you adjust to your bizarre environment, you swing your feet out from under the bedsheets and onto the cold, white, ceramic floor. You only now register that everything is white: the sheets, the walls, your clothes. A look of confusion crosses your face. The white satin night dress belongs in this room, but it doesn’t belong to you. Where did it come from?
Your determination is evident as you decide it is time to find answers. Without a doubt you have questions: Where am I? How did I get here? This cloud of confusion hangs over you. You stand with conviction, mind set on exploration.
Opening the door, you find a long hallway. It is enveloped in white, which is furthered by the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. You follow the white walls to another door. The handle is cold to the touch as you turn it.
You arrive in a large kitchen. As in the bedroom, nothing is out of place. You walk along the row of drawers and cabinets, running your finger across the white countertop. You come to the fridge, and with furrowed brows you open it. You discover almost nothing, only a cylindrical white container no taller than a glass. There is a small label stuck to the top, with neat, black handwriting identifying it as “breakfast”. Upon removing the lid, you find white, Greek yoghurt. How fitting. The spoons are stored in the top drawer. You are a clever girl; you find them with ease. You further prove this intelligence when you hesitate before tasting it. With wary eyes you glance down at the yoghurt once again. Why would you trust this place to provide you with safe food, unpoisoned? Before you can fully consider the consequences, your stomach growls audibly and the risk is taken. It is clear you are reckless despite your intellect.
By the time the container is empty, you have decided to find a way out, an escape. There are no apparent exits in this room, only the silence and the sound of your thoughts. You follow the hallway back to the bedroom uneasily. You notice a second door and enter it, finding a small, equally white bathroom fitted with a bath, a shower, a toilet, and a sink, but no exit. No way out. Nothing.
That fear you had neglected earlier creeps through your body in rapid breaths and goosebumps. You rip each carefully placed towel out of the press, hunting for something – anything – that might help. You take long strides into the bedroom to continue your rampage. Bedsheets on the floor, pillows thrown about. What could you possibly have gained from this?
Your attention once again returns to the field, and your movement slows. You approach the first window, then the second, and finally, the third. These windows have no reflection. You place your hand on one. It is glass, but you can’t see yourself in it. Turning to check the others, something appears to dawn on you. You have discovered that each window shows the same image: the field, the sky, the trees. They are not windows at all.
With a sudden surge of emotion at this understanding you take off towards the kitchen again. You let the terror take over and begin your frenzy of destruction. Every pristine white plate smashed; vases knocked over. Your recklessness is no longer endearing. The flash of an idea crosses your face as you pick up a chair.
It is not long before you are back in the bedroom, bashing the piece of furniture against the windows. I wish you would calm down; this is no way to treat your new home. Each strike to the windows is like a stab to my heart. You must not be afraid. We will meet one another soon. All will go according to plan. You are safe in my care, my love.
