The Room
“One of the consequences of such notions as "entitlements" is that people who have contributed nothing to society feel that society owes them something, apparently just for being nice enough to grace us with their presence.” (Thomas Sowell, American Economist on the concept of the welfare state)
“The ultimate end of all revolutionary social change is to establish the sanctity of human life, the dignity of man, the right of every human being to liberty and well-being.” (Emma Goldman, American Anarchist on the concept of revolution)
“Come on, Harry, let’s just do it!”
“I don’t know, John. We know nothing about this place; we can never guess the consequences. If we don’t know the risks we can’t make the judgement; not on any intelligent level, anyway.”
John’s enthusiasm quickly dwindled back into exasperation. Harry was right of course, they did know nothing about their situation. These walls, for the past six weeks, had been the only thing they had really known. It was so frustrating, bleached- white walls restricted them to a bland and cramped cell. They didn’t know how they had got there, had no idea why they were there and did not even know where ‘there’ was; perhaps frustration was not an apt enough term for their emotions at that moment in time…
John looked at the sign again; the big, bold words hung over him with authority:
YOU MUST NOT LEAVE THIS ROOM.
Below the forbidding plaque was a door. They hadn’t even worked up the courage to see if it could be opened yet. When they had first arrived there had been a note and its message had been extremely clear: they were in a room that was secure; leaving the room would end their security. Do you leave what you know, even if what you know isn’t brilliant, at the risk of something you don’t? Something that could be far worse? Harry was decided, he liked the security; John was far less satisfied.
About six weeks ago, John and Harry had agreed to meet up for a drink. They did not know each other well but were about to start a new job together and their employers had thought it was appropriate for them to meet up to ‘gel’. The last thing both Harry and John remember was shaking the other person’s hand, both feeling a little unsure of why the company had been insistent on the meeting. However, none of this had the chance to be answered because they had both blacked out, only to open their eyes to a room of pure white. Upon their awakening they found a great meal set out on the floor before them. Both were ravenous and, before they had properly grasped the situation, they began to feast. Only halfway through eating did the first question of many ask itself:
“Where are we?” Asked John. Harry stopped eating for a second and had a look round.
“We are in a room,” he replied. John gave Harry an unimpressed look, but Harry widened his eyes and nodded towards something- a note. John picked it up and began to read. At the top, in big letters, it read:
“You are in a room.”
Following this was a small statement:
“You must not leave this room. If you stay you shall be fed, entertained and satiated to a fine level of living. In this room you are secure. Outside this room you are not secure. Things will not be like this room and this room will no longer be secure, for it will be just a room. You must not leave this room.”
Bizarrely written but clear all the same, this room was where they were to stay. John’s immediate reaction was to leave but Harry was hesitant and the matter was discussed.
“Look,” Harry had said, “We don’t know what’s out there… Death? Disease? Assassins? Nothing? We have a note promising us a tolerable level of living, which is at least living. If life is that bad then we should take the gamble but why give up what could be okay?”
“I don’t like being told what to do,” replied John, “I just want to get out of here and get back to reality. This place, it makes no sense.”
“Look, John, quite simply, we shouldn’t rush into any bold decisions. Let’s just feel this place out and then, if we want to go, that is still an option.”
It was settled that John’s immediate instinct had to be restrained and Harry’s rationality prevailed. They decided to stay put and, in time, the mechanisms of the room were experienced.
Their sleep was bizarre. It just happened; they never felt tired and they could never remember anything apart from the waking up. Neither of them ever dreamt but merely refreshed themselves on the immediate call of the body. Every time they awoke, before them was a platter of gourmet food to gorge on and they always ate with hunger until they were content. Any food they left always disappeared when they slept to be replaced with a new and different meal, equally as delicious as the one before. Also books and games would frequently be placed alongside the food, often being changed exactly when a previous book had been finished or a game had been made dull from overplaying. Why and how these things occurred, neither of them knew because it was all done when they were asleep. However, neither of them minded the experience much; they were entertained to a reasonable level and the delicacies prepared for them were exquisite. Yet, a room of such small proportions could never be described as the ideal living environment as far as they were concerned. John especially found it forbidding and frustrating; the room was great for captives but nothing it could offer could match real freedom. Harry however, though far from finding the small world around him divine, did not wish to leave a good thing. The note had told him to accept the room and it was all the information he had; what was he going to do, risk his life (possibly) for no reason (again, possibly)? Too many questions in this room; not enough answers- the debate of whether to stay or leave was looking as if it was unlikely to be resolved amicably.
The calculated time of six weeks is far from determined. John had conjured up an estimate by the amount of times they had been asleep. Both agreed that their slumber was deep and nourishing and so they mutually agreed it was logical to suppose that is was an eight hour sleep. The food that was laid out for after their resting always seemed to require about three sittings and so was considered, essentially, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Therefore, each time the two inexplicably dozed, it was assumed to be a day. However, time is a fiction and their measurements could really be any number of times too fast or too slow.
Harry cared not. He was there and that was that; such a conclusion John could not find palatable. He wanted to know how long he had been incarcerated. His mind hungered for answers; it burned with a desire to know more. Why were they here? Was it a test or an experiment of some kind? Why were they allowed to have no information except for a ridiculously scribbled note that gave nothing but a taunting riddle? Most immediately for John though, the most frustrating and constant question that repeatedly niggled him and mocked him from inside his brain was ‘What is beyond the room?’ It just wouldn’t leave him alone. ‘What is beyond the room?’ Was it good, was it bad? Was it the end and did it matter if it was? ‘What is beyond the room?’ He stared at the door and it looked blankly back at him. ‘You’ll get nothing from me,’ it seemed to say and John knew the only way to open its mouth was to turn the handle and change things forever. ‘What is beyond the room?’
“What is beyond the room?” He whispered and then repeated again louder, “What is beyond the room?”
“John? John, are you okay?” Harry looked concerned, partly for John, partly for what John might do and at what consequence to himself. He stood up and walked over to John. He bent his knees so his head was at John’s level and placed his hands on John’s shoulders. John looked up into Harry’s half-smiling face and asked again, “What’s beyond the room?”
“I don’t know John, does it matter?”
“Course it matters. Everything matters. We’ve got to get out of here Harry, this isn’t how we’re supposed to live.”
“So, what is out there might not be better. Could be worse. Hell, how do we even know that there is an out there?”
“Because there must be,” answered John. “How else is the food brought in here? How are things brought to us? Through that wretched door, that’s how. If we weren’t meant to leave, then why is it there? What is beyond the room? Hey, Harry? We must know. Don’t you feel it, that nagging? That longing for something more? I need it Harry, I have got to be FREE!”
John leapt up, knocking Harry back off feet onto his backside. Harry yelled, “No! John, the paper tells us we don’t need to know. The nagging, the longing- are you a child? You should be able to get past that!”
“Past this? You think it is childish because I can’t take being cooped up for no reason at all?! You think it’s childish because I won’t take heed to a piece of paper! You are a fool, Harry! A damn fool! You have made yourself a slave and for what? For no reason other than you are too scared to dream. Well, have your room Harry, have it to yourself because I am leaving.”
“NO!” Harry dived at John but he knocked Harry aside and headed for the door. He placed his hand round the handle. His body shivered with a rush of emotion- fear, trepidation, doubt, excitement, exhilaration and the feeling of a longing about to be filled. He gave it a turn.
John opened his eyes. He turned his head to see Harry coming round; Harry didn’t look good and John, for the first time since he had been in the room, felt sick. He felt fragile and cold and did not feel like moving much at all. Harry, let out a groan, “What happened?”
“The room stopped me from leaving, Harry. It wants us to stay as we are. I can’t just turn the damn handle, Harry. If I want to leave I have got to break straight out of this claustrophobic, coffin of existence. Can’t you feel it choking us, restricting us?”
“No, John,” replied Harry, “I can feel it telling us to get use to this but that is it. It wants us to enjoy our stay and to remain here. You try to leave and we won’t enjoy it.”
Harry groaned again and rolled over onto his back. John stood up, his legs shaking, barely able to keep him upright. His belly rocked back and forth and he nearly vomited, holding back the sick with a steady, rhythmic breathing. “Do not make this any worse, John,” Harry warned, “that could have been a threat, a hint. It’s like I said- we know this room, we know it’s good- if we leave we could die.”
John didn’t reply but his thoughts were pounding. ‘We know this room, we know it’s good,’ the words didn’t ring true to John. ‘This is the good’, he thought. ‘Okay, it is existence but it is meaningless and it’s stagnant. Disgustingly destitute and worthless, how can anyone say this is good? Beyond that door we could find…we could find… well, who knows and who cares at least we would find a purpose beyond non-death. This isn’t living, this is postponing the inevitable. I’d rather dance to my death than sit and wait for it to come for me, we must face the facts. We are all going to die but we can die constricted, slowly turning stagnant or we can progress, move on. We can sit in the room or we can burst through the door. It can try and stop me but…’
“I will leave,” John said aloud.
“The hell you will,” replied Harry. “You are not taking away my security. I am happy with my lot. This may be claustrophobic, this may be restricting, this may not be how I ever envisaged my life- a slave to something I barely understand, that I have no choice but to accept- but it is my life and you will not take it.”
“You’re so BLIND!” John roared at Harry in frustration, “How can you not see past this room. Or even if you cannot see, feel past it. Feel, Harry, you know there is more to life! This is not us, the real us, we are trapped. Enslaved- you said it yourself: you are a slave to the room. It’s captive and servant and now you want to help it keep me enslaved?”
“No, I want to keep me alive!”
“This isn’t living!”
“It’s all I have. It is all I have!”
Harry charged John and cracked a swinging fist into his jaw. The nausea for both men was replaced with adrenaline. John went down but immediately launched himself upward, his rising fist connecting with Harry’s jaw. Harry felt his teeth clash together and heard something crack in his mouth; an electric pain ran through his gums. Stumbling backwards, he was winded as John tackled him to the ground. As they hit the ground, Harry raised a knee into John’s groin who replied with a scream and another blow to Harry’s face. A sickening, wet thud indicated to Harry that his eye was bleeding and the red mist confirmed it but John had keeled over. In a daze he returned to his feet and then swung a foot sharply into John’s rib cage. John let out another yell and looked up, a foot about to land on his face. He rolled and gave Harry a tough kick to the back of the legs, making Harry fall to a kneeling position. John rose and Harry fell and flung an elbow forward, feeling it sink into Harry’s face. Not even a noise escaped Harry’s mouth, his body slumped and he lay there unconscious, bleeding a constant river but alive.
John shook his head, he would have much rather have had an ally in Harry but they had made their positions clear from the start. With cooperation this could have been a mutually beneficial and far less violent affair. No matter, the desire for life will always win over the desire to not die. John turned to the door, it stood before him as it had done always, blank but mocking. He would be trapped no longer. THUD! His foot pushed hard onto the wooden door. THUD! CRACK! CRACK! Splinters spewed forth as he wood ruptured in reply to his fierce kicks. One more push and his leg crashed straight through and he was free. His body followed on and he flowed out of his prison into another world. The experience was surreal and sublime, as if he was breathing air for the first time. He wept sweet tears, not for where he was but for where he no longer had to be. He fell to the ground.
He slowly caught his breath, slowly returned from the ecstasy of his mind, to the new world that lay before him. His eyes shifted and he realised that he was in another room. However, instead of immediately feeling woe and frustration he analysed it and took it in. This room was not white but of myriad colours; it was an indescribable rainbow of beauty compared to the mundane realm he had left behind. And there was another sign, but this one did not demand his obedience. Instead, it offered hope:
FROM HERE YOU GO AS YOU CHOOSE! ALL YOUR PATHS ARE UNKNOWN.
As he looked around, John saw that there were many doors on the walls of this room, all unmarked and ready to be opened. He did not know where he was to go, he did not know if danger and disaster were waiting for him behind every door or whether he would maybe move on to yet another world, with more options. It did not matter what was to happen, it did not matter where he was to go, for he was free to make those decisions and he embraced his freedom. John picked a door and he was gone…
Harry shook himself awake. His view was horrendously blurred, partly due to a dulled mind and partly due to a swollen eye. However, his sight could not deny the horror he saw before him. The door was gone. In its place was a mess, a shattered mess. Harry panicked. He asked his mind what he was to do, for his world was no longer secure, no longer the same. No! It would be the same. He had accepted the room it would still accept him. And so there Harry stayed and he clung to the hope the room would give him food. That it would give him oblivious sleep. That it would entertain and satisfy him. But it never came. John could not accept a room to be his life but Harry could not accept anything else. In time, Harry grew weak for his wounds were not cared for and his sustenance never received. Harry remained in the room, but the room was dead. The room was dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment