Darkroom
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Dark - Chapter 1
Kailea
It was dark. Aside from a slight humming and the constant pressure on his
entire body, there was no other sensation. There was no way to tell if
his eyes were open or not. It was dark.
He was leaving his job late, as usual. It was dark then too, but the
parking lot lights helped alleviate that. Thoughts of his miserable
engineering job occupied most of his mind. No thought was given for his
safety. Why should it, he was six foot four inches and weighed over
300lbs. Retired football linebacker would be a good way to describe his
physique, although football had never been his thing. Who would bother
him?
There was no way to tell how long he had been in the dark, occasionally it
seemed the pressure on his whole body would shift slightly, that might
have been his imagination. He could not even reckon time by his bodily
functions; those seemed to have stopped. The engineer in his mind equated
that to an ostomy pouch most likely. As in the dark, his thoughts were
all he had.
The parking lot was in the middle of what used to be a farmer's field. He
did not work at the main corporate headquarters, but one of the much less
glamorous satellite offices. In the distance was the constant rumble of
the UPS trucks moving around the shipping depot and the sound of eighteen-
wheelers rolling down the highway to the other side. Always one of the
last out of the office, although he hated his job, and the people he
worked with, it paid the bills, and his work ethic prevented him from not
trying his best, despite it all. Ten yards from his car, he thought of
what to heat in the microwave for his dinner
He could not even yell into the dark to, perhaps, attract some attention.
He imagined his mouth must be a full of respiration tubes of some kind, as
the constant pressure on his face and chest would preclude him from
drawing normal breath. Similarly, he felt no hunger, but was obviously
receiving nourishment from some external method. He had once read an
article on sensory deprivation systems or tanks. He always thought it
would be interesting to try one. It turned out to be somewhat pleasant to
have all control taken away
He had just unlocked his SUV, his hand on the door handle, when he slapped
at the sudden pain on his neck. Next came the dark.
*********************
Sleep happened while in the dark. Whether it was his natural body's
rhythm or some other inducing factor was impossible to tell.
Indeterminate periods of conscious thought were followed by equally
indeterminate periods of unconsciousness. It was this cycle that
convinced him he was not dead, why would a dead person sleep was a
logically conclusion of that particular internal argument.
When all else is removed, and your thoughts your only diversion, it is
amazing what use you can put your mind. To stay sane, while conscious, he
was constantly working through scenarios and thought exercises. Reviewing
the past, considering the future, and wondering about his current state.
He concluded in this internal monologue that this was probably the
disembodied, pure thought state that most mystics strive for.
It was while he was "awake" and reviewing thoughts about his family that
the first perceived change happened. He was not married, and all the
social ties he had in the world were his small family, parents and
siblings. It was the thought of them being hurt, which kept him from
carrying out his depression driven thoughts of suicide. Hurting his
family was never an option. Although he relished the idea of how they
would be doomed at his job without his help, no one was capable of
performing his job as he had.
The change came gradually; he felt movement in his limbs. Not true
movement, but a slight variation of the pressure. While the pressure
never lessened to where he could retrieve some kind of overall sensation
of his body, it increased randomly in what could be considered a massaging
motion. There was no pattern or rhythm to it, so there was no hope of
establishing any time reference. Instead, it was randomly distributed
across his entire body for varying periods and intensities.
This became the new routine, to the point where it could be ignored. Not
for long however, as next the darkness came to an end. Not abruptly, but
once again gradually. This was truly thrilling. Logic dictated that
these new activities were in preparation for something, perhaps the
release from his current position. There was nothing visible, instead of
where there was once darkness now there was a gradually increasing
whiteness, never enough that it caused discomfort, definitely an
acclimation activity.
The first time the light went out the panic was almost unbearable.
Fortunately, unconsciousness came quickly, and when thought returned, the
light returned. Thus, the light and motion began to delineate some form
of day. Too many to count and no way to determine duration, but onward he
went in this new routine.
*********************
There was light. It was different, he could not process the difference
yet, but something was definitely not normal. He opened his eyes and
there was something there. Panic and rapid breathing followed. More
panic, he could feel his chest moving up and down, other sensations
quickly followed. This was too much, he squeezed his eyes shut again and
tried to make himself perfectly still. He tried to imagine the comforting
pressure and pushed all the sensations to the back of his mind. This
turned out to be surprisingly easy. After so much time with nothing but
his thoughts, his ability to compartmentalize and deal with his thoughts
was amazing.
After pulling back into a Zen like state, he slowly started to take stock
of the new environment. One by one, he could release the sensations, and
analyze them. With his eyes still shut, he began to work through them.
First, he started at his feet, he could feel his toes, and his legs were
covered by something loose, most likely a sheet, but felt otherwise naked.
After some effort, he managed to wiggle his toes on both feet, the muscle
memory slowly returning. There did not appear to be any weakness, just a
necessity to remember what the body was capable of.
His exercised his hands in a similar fashion, pressing down gently on the
surface he was lying on. He thought it felt like a mattress. This
explained the sheet covering his body, his arms, like his legs felt
garmentless. For the moment everything felt novel, the memory baseline to
which he would normally take stock of his body was very vague, so there
was no indication that anything was different. There was no pain, or
weakness, this was enough comfort for now.
After some time, he risked opening his eyes slowly. A brown palm frond
ceiling fan spun lazily above his gaze, partially obscured by the hair
that had fallen over the left side of his face. Turning to the right he
could see a window, sunlight streamed around the edges of an off-white
curtain. Rotating his head to the left showed a door. What appeared to be
a fairly well appointed motel room surrounded him as he laid on a
centrally located king sized bed. A panel TV on the wall, brown wicker
dressers and a desk completed the room.
The next sensation to attract his attention was the remembered sensation
of a full bladder. Guessing that a bathroom lay behind the door to the
left, he began to go slowly through the motions of rolling out of bed.
Closing his eyes once again, he concentrated on sliding his legs around to
the side of the bed. Like a robot, step by step he proceeded through the
motions. Once his legs slid over the edge of the bed, dangling slightly
above the floor, he used his arms to push himself slowly upright into a
sitting position.
Moment by moment, fragments of his self-memory were returning, from before
his isolation. This generated a few more new observations, as he grew more
comfortable with the deluge of feeling hitting him for the first time in
however long. First, his hair was much longer than he normally wore it.
No cause for concern, he obviously had not had the services of a barber
for quite some time. The second was the bed was really high, as only his
toe touched the floor.
As he slid forward and let his feet touch the ground, he stood up.
Whatever slick feeling, apparently open bottom garment he was wearing slid
down around his hips. He pitched forward a bit, putting his hands out to
catch the chair in front of him as his weight distributed itself somewhat
disconcertingly.
Continuing to compartmentalize what was going on; he slowly opened his
eyes and started to concentrate solely on the motions involved in walking.
Lean, lift, flex, shift, step. Each step getting slightly easier as what
once was a familiar process emerged from his memory. A memory vague
enough that any differences in this motion were either still unclear, or
was being filed for further processing.
In this fashion, he made it to and through the door into the dark
bathroom. Still not experiencing any pain or weakness, above the urge to
urinate, he gripped the counter and searched with his hand for the light
switch.
As the harsh fluorescents hummed to life, Chris looked up into the large
mirror above the sink. Looking back was woman, long black hair framing a
soft face with rounded cheekbones. Large brown eyes sat to either side of
a well-proportioned, slightly up-turned nose. A graceful neck trails down
to narrow shoulders, whose curves are traced by the thin straps of the
white silk nightgown. The material covers what appears to be a large, but
not out of place breasts, that in all likelihood narrow down into a thin
waist, before flaring out once again to round hips, which support and
slightly stretch the fabric of the nightgown. The lower portion is
obscured by counter, but the descending outline of the gown would give no
indication that the lower figure is not in perfect proportion to what is
visible.
She manages to process all this in a flash, as her eyes roll up into her
head and then it was dark.
*********************
To Be Continued?
Jerri
- 06.06.2020
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