Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

Word Count: 298

He was awake now, but his eyes closed reflexively when he tried to open them, the piercing white of the room violating his nascent consciousness.

“Where am I?” He thought, sealing his eyelids until they shuddered. With his hands over his eyes, he slowly let in the brightness through his fingers until he could keep them open without pain.

Nothing looked familiar, but a sense of recognition somewhere deep in his guts sent a shock of anxiety up his spine. He was sitting on the edge of a cot in a room, maybe ten square meters. The featureless walls rose into a bright white void that prevented him from seeing their terminus. There were no doors. There were no windows. There were no shadows. There was nothing else in the room except a desk and chair, white as their surroundings, centered on the wall across from the cot.

He stood on shaky legs and braced himself against the wall until he could stand upright. He walked towards the desk. Its surface held a glass of water, a small paper cup, and a typewritten note whose black ink was the only contrast to the penetrating whiteness around him. He read:

DON’T ASK QUESTIONS. YOU WON’T FIND ANSWERS. TAKE THE PILLS. GO BACK TO SLEEP. FORGET.

The paper cup held two white pills. Terror filled him. He screamed until his throat was raw. He clawed at the walls. Finally with a face crusted by dried tears, after hours or perhaps days, he gave in. It took a few minutes for the pills to work, but soon enough he felt the weight of sleep on his eyelids, and reclined on the cot, staring up into the white void above until he felt his memory dissolve and the sleep took him again.