Room 23
The walls were a green colour. A grassy green if that made sense. Although sometimes they were bright blue and sometimes they were a red or was it orange? They flashed on and off sometimes too.
He was never sure.
The bed in the room was white. White metal frame. It made noises if you moved too much. Click Clack. Four white legs. Maybe it moved at night and went back when the sun came up. Things were never as they seemed. Beds only walk for madmen or perhaps Alice In Wonderland. He wasn’t mad though. He was sure of that. He wasn’t Alice either.
Things were just different in the room.
How long he’d been in the room he didn’t know. He knew it was square with four walls. Four walls squared equals... Something. He’d forgotten. The square root of it, mattered though, but he didn’t know why.
When you have been thrown in a room for no good reason. You get angry. He should get angry but he couldn’t. He was frustrated that his captors hadn’t said why he’d been taken. Voices outside the room said his name. He wondered if they were planning to kill him.
He had discovered something wonderful. He remembered that. Something that would revolutionise something. He laughed to himself. Something that would revolutionise something. That wasn’t going to exactly change the world!
Floating that was it! He’d invented floating. Er, maybe not he laughed again.
Joan his wife. He wondered if she had been taken too. The Russians, They could have taken him and they would no doubt hurt his family. He wanted to cry but no tears came.
Food at last! It had been so long. Burgers though and he was a vegetarian! He ate the dead animal. He was hungry and he didn’t know when he’d eat again. Like a dog. A pet. He never knew when his keepers would feed him again.
The door barring him from the outside word was black. A black slab. No bars. Graffiti covered it. Scrawled by previous prisoners no doubt. He touched it. Ran his hands over it. The Grafitti reminded him of something. He lost the thought. Perhaps it didn’t. Perhaps it was just meaningless scrawled words after all.
Time to sleep. Tomorrow perhaps he could figure out why he always lost track of things. The Russians he knew would have no qualms about poisoning him. The thought made him feel sick.
Interrogation. It was bound to come. Would it come with violence attached. Probably.
No. I didn’t do that. I don’t know anything about any discovery. Why are you keeping me here?
The interrogation didn’t last long. The torture came as expected. Why did they do that he thought as he flopped down on the bed. Waterboarding was against the Geneva convention surely. He didn’t know anything.
He just wanted to go home. See his wife and kids again. He was sure they would think him dead. He was sure of it. Surely his captors would listen to reason. They were never around long enough for him to explain that he was useless to them.
Another day. The smoke alarm went off in the corridor. He couldn’t stay here if there was a fire surely. He didn’t panic though as it was had to be as old as the building itself and he had heard it go off before. Many times. Change the fucking batteries he thought to himself.
He was restless that evening. He couldn’t sleep. Why didn’t the room have at least a TV in it? The window. He’d noticed it many times but had never thought he could escape through it. It was a long drop down. But if he tied bedsheets together. Ha! Foolish idea. He knew he’d never be able to do it. It scared him too. He’d always been afraid of heights. He thought.
He did fall from a window once long ago as a child. He remembered the fear as he hit the ground. That’s what you get from trying to fly he had told himself at the time.
Music. The guards outside would often play music. A wailing repetitive music. It reminded him of something. Not this music though. Not soul music. Not Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin.
The music gave him a headache. Soul music, his favourite genre. Should never give him a headache. Pain. Pain in his legs. Had the guards beat him.
He wanted to sit up. He couldn’t. Had the guards beat him so badly?
His lids. So heavy. Pain in his head. Colours. Not green. White. The room had white walls?
A guard looked at him in shock. What did he want. The music abruptly ended?
“He’s awake,” said the guard to another.
“David Johnston, physics lecturer at Stonehill uni”
“so the music worked” replied the female guard.
“Seems so, he’s been in a coma ever since the skydive accident, his chute opened partially but not enough. Police and ambulances were on the scene pretty quick or he’d be dead. Lights flashing all over the place. Get his doctor in here now.”
“Ok. By the way nurse, wasn’t he the professor who was working on an anti gravity machine”
“Yea, he had apparently invented one. Go get the doctor.”
“Ok, ok. Shame it didn’t help him with the Skydive!”
“Funny ha ha. Get the Doctor and now!!”