The white room

'A slice of chocolate cake, sir?'

My head throbbing, I slowly pulled myself from the floor. I looked up at where I thought the voice came from. Nothing but blank walls.

I scanned the room, wincing from the harsh, sterile light. A single wooden table with a dull, chrome platter on it. There was indeed a small portion of dark brown cake, adorned with flowery swirls of icing and segments of strawberries, all dusted with what I assumed to be sugar.

It was all utterly surreal. I had no idea where I was, how I'd gotten there, or whose voice I had just heard.

'What's going on?' I asked, hesitantly.

'You must be hungry. You've been asleep for some time.'

'Who are you? Where are you?' I demanded, growing more frustrated. I turned around slowly and noticed a small speaker unit at the top of the wall. Below it, the outline of a door, but no handle, at least not one that I could see. I pressed and poked around all the edges, but nothing happened.

'It's not time to leave yet, sir. A representative will be with you soon.'

Confused for so many reasons, and lethargic from my slumber, my head was still swirling. I tried to cast my mind back to the last thing I remembered. I honestly couldn't even guess what day it was, where I had been before here - let alone where here was.

I started to notice how thirsty I was feeling. I glanced back at the table. No drink, just the solitary slice of chocolate cake. I had absolutely no interest in taking a closer look. I paced around the room hoping for something, I'm not sure what.

It was getting cold. I rubbed my arms and felt a rough patch on the inside of my elbow. Looking down I saw red marks. Several round, red marks. There were some on the other arm too, but faded. In total there were at least a dozen I could make out, perhaps more that faded.

'What the hell is this? Where the hell am I?' I shouted.

'A representative will be with you soon.'

'A representative of what?' I snapped back.

Silence.

I stormed over to the table, pushed the plate off and began dragging the table towards the door. A loud clang of the plate satisfied my anger, and I looked across the room at the mess of cake broken into several large clumps and smaller crumbs. I aligned the table right under the speaker and began climbing up.

'It's not time to leave yet, sir. A representative will be with you soon.'

I grabbed the speaker and tried to pull it from the wall. A sudden searing pain shot up my arms and a fell back off the table. I laid on the floor for quite some time, a crumpled mess, taken aback and winded from the landing. Eventually I clambered to my feet again. I paced the room determined to find something or think of something - remember anything.

But there was nothing. Nothing in the room. Nothing in my memory.

I screamed at the floating voice. I begged and pleaded. I spoke calmly and persuasively. I asked questions. Nothing made a difference.

'A representative will be with you soon.'

I heard the exact same toneless expression so many times that I could echo it back perfectly. Hours had passed and I was muttering it to myself. My thirst had gotten much worse and it was hard to concentrate. I was also feeling hungry now. I had begun so determined to never even entertain the thought of touching the cake. I was angry at myself for even considering looking at it.

Every now and then I had glanced while walking past during my laps of the room. Some of the icing was smeared but the majority of the piece was in tact. Now, sitting with my back against the flipped table, I realised I had been staring at it for a few minutes.

I shook my head and stood up, turning my back to it.

More shouting. More raging. More banging on the door.

'It's not time to leave yet, sir. A representative will be with you soon.'

I was so livid yet so powerless. I felt like crying, screaming, throwing punches. I couldn't even guess how long I'd been in there now. It could have been hours, it could have been days. I felt a sense of dread, of panic, rising within me.

I distracted myself by moving the table, lifting it upright again and moving it to the centre of the room. As I was adjusting it, I caught myself from stepping in the cake, or what was left of it, on the floor next to me. I stared down, leaning slightly on the table.

I was so hungry that I could smell it. The rich chocolate scent was somehow warm, almost comforting. I bent down to inspect it, telling myself I was only going to look. As defiant as I wanted to be, I couldn't help but admit it really did look like the perfect cake, even partly smeared on the floor. The texture looked soft yet dense. The sweetness filled my head and I could almost taste it. At first I didn't realise that my hand was reaching out. By the time I was picking some up, I started to bargain with myself.

'Just a taste. Just one pinch of the piece that hasn't touched the floor.'

It was actually a little disappointing.

'It's not as good as it looks, for your information,' I offered the review to the empty room, feeling justified in having put it off so long.

Nothing special. Just a normal piece of chocolate cake. No harm in having more. I picked what I could from the mess.

Despite being a modest size, it was quite filling. All the exertion from my shouting, pacing, the experience so far - it was catching up with me. I started to feel quite tired. I moved over to the corner and slouched against the wall, sliding down to sit. I felt relaxed. Calm. The inside of my elbow was still a little sore, and itchy, but the rest of me was filled with an oozy sense of comfort. My eyes started to close. I let out a long content sigh.

--

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling stiff and sore. I did not recognise the room. Blank walls and a sterile white light. Nothing but a single wooden table. And on top, a silver plate with what appeared to be...

'A slice of chocolate cake, sir?'