Thump. Thump. Thump.
Close your eyes for a moment and simply listen. Hear the multitude of waves of sound crashing against your senses. Now, open your eyes and recognize the vast amount of visual data your eyes absorb. Yet, in a space where all visual stimuli are severed, all that persists is the sound of your blood coursing through your arteries and veins, accompanied by the resonant thuds of your heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
They say the greatest fear humans face is the fear of boredom. In a realm where one lacks senses to perceive, it becomes the breeding ground where the mind languishes and withers away.
Gush. Thump. Gush. Thump.
They say enduring days in isolation leaves indelible scars on one's psyche, even the most resolute individuals emerge more fractured than before. Some seek solace in the sensation of pain, tearing at their flesh until it bleeds, while others resort to gouging out their own eyes. Some simply lose themselves entirely. Once a person loses their identity, where does the self vanish? What defines the self? Who are you.
Thump.
'This is akin to the White Room torture from those tales. No wonder they compelled us to sign those forms,' Lorian ruminated, unable to quell the rising anxiety as his heart pounded louder and louder, the silence amplifying the rhythmic beat until it consumed his every thought.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
'The more attuned one becomes to their heartbeat, the greater the anxiety, just noticing the thumping makes the heart beat faster, and the faster it beats the more scared one gets' he reasoned with himself, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the palpitations quickened. 'The vicious cycle,' Lorian muttered, his mind caught in the relentless grip of fear and uncertainty, each beat of his heart driving him deeper into the labyrinth of his own psyche, threatening to consume him.
'From the tales I've heard, the absence of sensory input will warp my perception of time,' Lorian contemplated, his thoughts racing as he envisioned the impending descent into hallucinations and paranoia, the walls seeming to close in around him with every passing second.
'A minute may soon feel like an eternity. Perhaps it has already begun. Soon, my mind will fabricate specters of monsters, of cherished faces, plunging me into a maelstrom of anxiety,' he reasoned, closing his eyes in a bid to shield them from the harsh white lights, but finding no respite as the shadows danced behind his eyelids, taunting him.
'The first act of defiance: voluntary sensory deprivation, to disrupt their system,' he resolved, taking the first step towards reclaiming control in the face of uncertainty, his breath growing shallow as the silence pressed down upon him.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
'Next, I need to find a way to drown out the sound of my heartbeat,' Lorian resolved, his thoughts racing within the confines of the chamber, echoing louder with each passing moment. 'I can create noise by tapping on the ground and speaking aloud,' he reasoned, seeking to fill the oppressive silence with his own voice, but finding his throat constricted, the words refusing to form.
"But what if they're listening? They'll know your every move," a voice cautioned within his mind, its whisper slicing through the stillness like a knife.
"Oh no, they're trying to kill me here. I didn't inform anyone of my whereabouts," another voice chastised, its accusatory tone ringing in his ears, amplified by the emptiness surrounding him.
"Ha, no wonder that cartoon character was so terrified, but I won't succumb to fear," countered another, a semblance of defiance rising within Lorian, only to be swiftly smothered by the weight of the silence.
"Mother is alone in the hospital, and here I am, shirking my responsibilities. You'll never change, Lorian," accused yet another voice, laden with guilt, piercing his heart like a dagger.
"You're a failure, Lorian. A failure," sneered another, the voice of doubt echoing through his mind, reverberating off the walls until it became a deafening roar.
"Death awaits you, Lorian. I am death, and I'm coming for you," whispered a sinister voice, instilling a sense of dread in Lorian’s heart, his pulse quickening as he spun around, searching for the source of the sound, but finding only the oppressive whiteness.
"Press the red button, Lorian. Press the red button," urged a final voice, a beacon of hope amidst the cacophony of doubt and fear.
Lost in the turmoil of his own thoughts, Lorian didn't even realize when he had opened his eyes, nor when he had approached the ominous red button before him.
"No, I cannot leave. Mother needs me," Lorian resolved, his determination solidifying, but wavering as the voices continued to assail him from all sides.
"But what if she's already gone by the time you escape, Lorian?" another voice thundered, injecting doubt into his resolve.
In one corner of the room, Lorian witnessed a heart-wrenching scene: his mother weeping, calling out to him. "Lorian, come back to me," her voice pleaded, tugging at his heartstrings, her form seeming to flicker and distort before his very eyes, leaving him uncertain of what was real and what was merely a figment of his imagination.
Mother...she appeared so vivid, so real.
As Lorian stood in the suffocating silence of the chamber, a storm of thoughts raged within him, each one a testament to the tumultuous journey of his mind. Amidst the oppressive emptiness, a surge of determination coursed through him, fueled by an ambition that burned brighter than any flicker of light in the darkness.
He remembered his childhood dreams, visions of grandeur that danced before his eyes like distant constellations, always just out of reach. From a young age, he had harbored ambitions to leave his mark on the world, to carve out a legacy that would echo through the annals of history. Yet, life had proven to be a relentless adversary, thwarting his every attempt to grasp greatness.
With a pang of regret, he recalled the opportunities that had slipped through his fingers, the moments of brilliance overshadowed by the specter of failure. Each setback had only fueled the flames of his ambition, driving him to push harder, reach higher, to defy the odds and prove himself worthy of the destiny he had envisioned for himself.
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Visions from the past suddenly started playing in front of him as though he were in a theater watching the highlights of his life
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As Lorian observed the scene unfolding before him, a pang of recognition pierced through the fog of his memories.
The young Lorian stood amidst the throng of graduates, his spirit alight with the promise of a future yet to be written. With his diploma clutched tightly in hand, he dared to dream of a world where his ambitions knew no bounds. Draped over his shoulders, his graduation gown caught the light, a deep midnight blue shimmering with every movement. The golden embroidery along the hem and cuffs, reminiscent of constellations, added a touch of celestial grandeur, symbolizing the vastness of his aspirations.
"Can you imagine it? The world is ours for the taking. I'm going to make something of myself, mark my words," the younger Lorian exclaimed with infectious enthusiasm, his laughter ringing out like a clarion call to destiny. His gown swirled around him, the fabric rustling softly, as if echoing his words with its own quiet affirmation.
"I have no doubt about that, Lorian. You're destined for greatness," Julius replied, his words a testament to the unwavering faith he held in his friend's potential. The golden tassels at Lorian’s shoulders swung gently, marking the rhythm of their shared excitement.
Lorian watched the scene unfold with a mixture of pride and sorrow, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. He turned his gaze to his mother, her tears of joy painting a poignant portrait of maternal love and pride. But as she approached him, her expression of joy gave way to one of pain and distress. The vibrant gown, once a symbol of hope and achievement, now seemed to underscore the bittersweet complexity of the moment.
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In an instant, the scene shifted, transporting Lorian to the sterile confines of a hospital room. Still clad in his graduation gown, he sat vigil by his mother's bedside, his soul tethered to hers by threads of love and desperation. The deep midnight blue of the gown contrasted starkly with the stark white walls and clinical apparatus surrounding them. Tubes and wires snaked across her frail form, their rhythmic beeps a cruel reminder of the fragility of life.
"Hang in there, Mom. I'll take care of everything. I promise," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he made a solemn vow to shoulder the burdens of their shared struggle. In that moment, he resolved to be her rock, her anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainty that lay ahead.
The gown he adorned, once a mere garment of celebration, now became a mantle of responsibility and a beacon of his unwavering dedication.
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Lorian, now nineteen, raced against time as he navigated through the chaos of his daily grind. From dawn till dusk, he darted from one job to another, his footsteps echoing the rhythm of his weary heart. He served tables at a bustling diner during the day, delivered piping-hot pizzas to hungry patrons in the evenings, and scrubbed the floors of office buildings late into the night. Some people were kind to him, some people were rude, the rest looked at him like he didn't even exist. He hated that look.
Huffing with exertion, he finally found a moment of respite amidst the ceaseless whirlwind of his responsibilities. The faint glimmer of hope danced in his eyes as he counted the hard-earned coins in his palm.
Huff
"I finally have enough money to invest!!" He said to himself thinking of all the money he would soon make.
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Lorian sat hunched over his laptop, his eyes locked on the fluctuating numbers on the screen, each dip and rise a reflection of his inner turmoil. His hands trembled as he executed trades in the volatile stock market, desperately hoping to strike it rich and secure his family's future. But with each click, his losses mounted, draining his savings and plunging him deeper into a pit of debt and despair.
'Just one more trade, one more chance to turn things around. I can't give up now. My luck will turn around!' he thought, his gaze drifting to his graduation gown hanging next to the wall. Surrounded by paintings and pictures of him and his mother, it was a poignant reminder of his dreams and the motivations that once fueled his ambition. The gown, now a silent observer of his trials, seemed to whisper tales of hope and resilience, urging him to persevere. It was not just a symbol of past achievements but a beacon guiding him through the storm, reminding him of the promises he made and the future he still aspired to create.
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The nights offered no solace. Lorian lay awake, his mind a tempest of self-doubt and despair. The dim glow of the television cast shadows across the room, its flickering images a harsh reminder of the encroaching realities that threatened his fragile existence. The once spacious room now felt suffocatingly small and empty, with only the television, a study table, a bed, and his graduation gown hanging on the wall.
The gown, once a symbol of hope and achievement, was now covered with dust and dirt, mirroring how his unfulfilled dreams were buried under the harshness of his situation. The golden embroidery, once so vibrant, was now dulled, and the deep midnight blue fabric had lost its luster. It hung there, a silent testament to the aspirations that had been stifled by the relentless struggle and lack of money. In this dimly lit room, the gown seemed to mock him, a constant reminder of what could have been, urging him to find a way out of the suffocating despair.
"The country is going through an economic crisis! The stock market has plunged into an all-time low," the channel spokesperson's voice droned on, each word a dagger plunging deeper into Lorian’s already wounded spirit.
'What happened to the bright future I once envisioned? Where did I go wrong?' His thoughts spiraled into a vortex of anguish and regret, each memory a painful echo of his shattered dreams. 'It's all because of her... Why did she have to get sick working in that damned coal factory?'
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he contemplated the bleak landscape of his reality. The weight of his responsibilities bore down upon him like a suffocating cloak, threatening to snuff out the last flicker of hope that remained within his heart. He glanced at the bill in his hand. ' I would have enough money and time if I didn't have to take care of this' He crumpled the bill in anger. 'Would it all be ok if she was gone?' He asked himself, yet his gut wrenched as he immediately regretted that callous thought.
Sigh
He looked lifelessly at the television set in front of him.
"I guess I have to sell this too, huh?" he murmured to himself, his voice tinged with resignation.
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Young Lorian stood atop a hill, the world spread out before him like a vast tapestry waiting to be woven with his dreams. The wind tousled his hair as if in agreement with his fervent ambitions.
"I refuse to fade into obscurity. I will carve out a legacy that will endure for eternity. Power, fame, fortune—they will all be mine," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of unwavering determination.
With a makeshift sword held aloft, he gazed into the horizon, envisioning himself as the hero of his own epic tale, a champion destined for greatness.
"Lorian!! Get down, it's time for math!" Mr. John's voice pierced through the idyllic scene, a reminder of the mundane responsibilities that awaited him below. Mr. John, his mother's old classmate, and his elementary school math teacher, often took on the role of a surrogate guardian when Lorian’s mother was occupied with work.
Lorian responded with a mischievous grin, his spirit undeterred by the prospect of imminent academic drudgery. With a playful gesture, he stuck out his tongue and pulled at his eyelids, taunting Mr. John as he dashed away.
"The school day is over! I'm not doing any math. I'm going to conquer the world!" he exclaimed, his laughter echoing in the air like a promise of adventures yet to come.
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It was Lorian’s 12th birthday, a day etched in his memory like a bittersweet melody. His mother had worked extra hours to buy him a bicycle, a gift he had been yearning for with all the fervor of childhood longing.
"Do you like it, Lorian?" she asked, her voice brimming with hope as she presented the shiny new bicycle.
"I don't like the color. And what's up with the training wheels? I don't need training wheels!" Lorian grumbled, his youthful impatience clouding his appreciation for her gesture.
"Should I return it then?" His mother giggled, her laughter like a gentle breeze that threatened to dispel the storm brewing in his heart.
"Noo!" Lorian screamed, his protestations tinged with guilt and insecurity. "But you can return the two extra training wheels. I asked for a bicycle, not a quadricycle!! Everyone will laugh at me!"
"I know my son is going to be perfect at riding the bike in the future," She said with a smile, "but until then, you need to learn with the training wheels" His mother's words carried a wisdom that transcended the mere act of riding a bicycle. She was trying to teach him resilience, patience, and the value of gradual progress.
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The visions ended there as Lorian returned to the white room, but the bicycle that his mom had gifted remained in the corner, a poignant reminder of her unwavering love and support. A green snake slithered around the bike, its movements fluid and sinuous, a harbinger of both danger and revelation.