The odyssey of a man

Somewhere in a void room lay a man clad in white whose eyes were beginning to twitch slightly. It was the way that little children who are light sleepers twitch their eyes, upon hearing the faintest sound. Mothers will instantaneously be alerted and rush to make their surroundings enter a state of pin drop silence, to ensure that their babies sleep a little while longer in their cribs. Unlike well cared for babies, the man lay sprawled in a foetal position on the concrete floor white tiles. There were no light bulbs of any kind in the room. Yet, the inside of the room was moderately lit up. 

The man opened his eyes and sat up. He placed his slender fingers on the corner of his eyes and rubbed them in half circular motion, clockwise, accompanied with brief anti-clockwise pattern to optimise his vision, hoping it would ward off the grogginess that had settled on his body from who knows how long he had been lying there motionlessly knocked out cold. Taking in his new surroundings, he stood up and felt his blood rushing throughout his body down to his toes.

The room was white; from the tiles, walls and the ceiling–it was all white. He looked at his clothes. He was wearing an oversized parka and pants that reached below his ankle bone. They too were all white. If he wanted, he could blend in by lying face down upon the floor as his face, hands and feet were the only things that gave some colour to the room. He explored the room by walking on his bare feet and came to the conclusion that had the blueprint of the room been drawn, it would be a cubical. Symmetry's rigid norms were the main thing the architect had in mind when designing this room. Even the tiles were all the same size, shape, and coloration. 

The man walking around came to the realisation that he had no recollection of himself. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the corner towards which his face was turned extended into a rectangular shape. The once blank wall now had a plain white door with a little golden knob. The floor began to darken beneath his feet, and he observed the shadow slither like a serpent toward the freshly installed door, forming an eerie carpet. 

He walked along the trail to the door. Gently turning the knob he opened the door and was greeted by an assault of yellow. It was a room just like the previous one, but this one was filled with yellow daffodils sprouting from the concrete floor. 

His tiny hands were being held by the bigger hands of a much bigger man with broad shoulders, slight pot belly and a moustache. They walked hand in hand amongst sweet smelling white flowers. The bigger man picked a few and handed it to the small child beside him to smell. The child brought the flowers close to his nose and took a whiff of their fragrance savouring every whiff that he took by burrowing his nose into the small flowers. The daffodils had a vibrant yellow colour. They sprouted from the concrete and were emanating a strong mixture of spice-like musky fragrance. The man walked towards them. Every fibre of his being started to resonate from within, mirroring the gentle rhythm of coiled springs. His body adapted to the vibrations, and as he strolled through the garden, he discovered a path at his feet. Following it, he found that it ended abruptly at a featureless wall.

He traced his fingers along the wall, causing ridges to materialise, and a new, thick door emerged. Unlike the previous one, this door featured intricate geometrical patterns and a sturdy, iron-grey handle. Opening it required all his strength, resulting in a resounding, mechanical clang as he exerted force. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, evidence of the immense effort it took to create just enough space to slip through the insides of his stomach churned with a violent force. He was ravenously hungry and the pangs of his hunger assaulted him vigorously. 

The room did adhere to a strict symmetry, with its cube shape, white-tiled floor, and walls. However, were it not for the deliberate arrangement of broken machinery into four massive piles, it would have resembled a junkyard. These once-vibrant items had succumbed to rust and decay.

Amidst the scattered wreckage, the grandfather clocks perched majestically atop each mound. As the man wandered among the heaps, he noticed other clocks among the machinery, all frozen in time with their hour hands at 12, minute hands at 3, and slender second hands at 9.

Clank….
Clank….
Clank….
Clop….
Cloppp….
Cloopp…
Clank….

A dishevelled brown chimp, clad in red-striped pants and a yellow vest, approached slowly, relentlessly clanging two tiny golden cymbals. Its solemn face would have appeared serious if not for its perpetual "E" grin, outlined by ombre teeth that added a morbid touch.

In a darkened room streams of tears rolled down the face. The curtains were pulled tightly shut. Weather was so hot and humid that warm perspiration covered his body. The door was shut. Loud music from the adjacent room was vibrating the walls of his room.

Feelings of suffocation choked him. He was grappling for air in the midst of his tightly controlled sobs to make sure no sound would escape out of him. He tried shoving his overgrown body inside the wardrobe, hoping it would turn into a little cocoon where he could rest, perhaps even reside in to avoid contact from outside. 

This continued till his head felt heavy and clogged from not having sufficient air. He came from his little resting nest when fear gripped him that he would create inconvenience to those who were outside and would have the duty of handling his body.

The fear of others handling his body shuddered him. They weren't strangers. They had known him since birth. Yet, his distrust in them had made them unworthy of handling his body in its vulnerable state. The thought was revolting. It was enough.

Emerging from the wardrobe, he approached the window, inhaling the warm, fresh breeze. The throbbing in his head subsided. Despite the music persisting in his room, the pain released its grip. Once he had enough oxygen to regain composure, he lay on his bed. His ordeal remained hidden from anyone's notice.
No one would ever know.
Who would tell them?
They did not understand.
He would never try to make them understand.
He would never tell.
He would only tell them when he had mastered the craft of erasing the traces within his body and of his body.
His hunger dulled. 
 

He walked past the piles following the sound of the chimp's cymbals. In the beginning, the room had not appeared large, yet walking across the room had drained his energy. He saw red, swollen toes and felt his eyes blur and head throb. His pristine white clothes lost their lustre, accumulating a thin layer of grime. How many doors does he have to pass through? He wanted everything to end. 

A new door emerged. The door easily opened and the insides were pitch dark. He entered the new room and was greeted by a cold slimy sensation on his body which had started from the soles of his feet and was moving gently to the upper portion of his body. 

He turned to shut the door to stop the light from the previous room flooding in and in the process saw clinging on his clothes big fat earthworms and maggots. Too weary to scream, thirst, hunger or stand he surrendered himself to the will of the small creatures and felt peace for the first time since he had awoken. 

Humayara Islam Moue is a contributor.