Just an idea

'Can I escape from this place,' asks the man.
'That depends,' replies the voice, 'Do you truelly want to?'
The man thinks for a moment about this ridiculous response. Of course I want to escape, I am frightened and lost. I just want to go home.
The voice continues, 'Where, exactly would you escape to? That place you call 'home'? That place where the water from the faucet is brown? That place where the ants are as much a tenant as you are? That place where every single foul word uttered by your alcoholic neighbor to his whore of a wife is heard through the paper thin walls? that place where you have never in your life felt more alone? You might need to reflect on where it is you truelly should escape from.'
'Who are you?' is the only thing the man can say.
'I am the one who wants to help you,' was the voice's simple reply. The man could tell the source of the voice was smiling. It frightened him even worse then his feeling of displacement.
'What do you want form me? What did I ever do to you?'
The voice let out a brief but huanting chuckle then, 'It is not what you did to me, but, rather, what you have done to yourself.'
'This is bullshit. Let me go,' says the man, fear now being replaced with rage.
'ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME?' boomed the voice. The man's heart seems to momentarily stop in his chest at the sudden commanding ferosity, 'I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY! However, I most certainly can be. And in your particular situation an ally would prove MOST beneficial.'
'And what situation might that be?' demands the man, though petrified of what the voice's answer might be.
The answer is smooth and sadistic, 'You have no money. You have no friends. You have no family. Your loneliness is slowly pecking away at your sanity like crows on a corpse. The only thing of value that you possess you stole. And because of your theivery, there are people after you, dangerous people. Without help you will soon be a dead man. You will be unmissed and unremembered. That is your...situation.'
'ENOUGH. Please,' pleeds the man. Such an intense feeling of despair oozes through the man that his legs buckle and he collapses to the floor. On the brink of hysterics the man cries, 'You said you wanted to help me! How is this helping me?'
There is now a vicious intensity in the voice that was not there before, 'I am opening your eyes to the fact that you have nothing. You are EMPTY. And to be content with that emptiness is unacceptable.'
With the last bit of anger left in him, the man asks defensively, 'Who are you to judge me?'
'Who are you to deny judgement,' replies the voice. The man, again, can sense that unseen, but terrifying, smile. He closes his eyes and breaths, fighting to supress the growing fear that he may just be a dead man walking.
Unmissed and unremembered echoes ceaselessly in his ears.
The long, murderous silence is finally broken by the man, 'How do I know I can trust you?'
The voice, smoothly, 'It would appear that you have no choice. Have a cigarette.'
'There aren't any-," the man begins then stops seeing a pack sitting on a small table to his left. Both of which were clearly not there before. Or were they? I am almost certain they were not thinks the man But I could use one.
He goes over to the table and lights a cigarette taking a long, deep drag. The mellow warmth of the smoke envelopes him and he lets out a long sigh. In that moment a cigarette has never tasted so good. The man takes another long drag and returns to the lone chair. The chair now seems more comfortable to him then before. Almost as if the chair were his own.