The Prison of the Mind

The first thing he noticed was the cold.

It wasn’t a tangible kind of cold, not the sort that sent shivers down his spine or made his teeth chatter. It was the kind of cold that settled in his bones, in the very essence of his being, a silent whisper of dread that grew stronger with each passing second.

Ethan opened his eyes.

The room was the same as always—white walls, a sterile floor, a single metal chair in the middle. A fluorescent light flickered above him, its hum blending with the rhythmic pounding in his head. His breath was steady, his heart thumping in a measured beat. Everything was the same.

Yet, something was wrong.

He took a step forward. The sound of his shoes against the cold floor echoed in his ears, unnervingly loud in the empty room. He swallowed hard, trying to remember how he got here.

And then it hit him.

This had happened before.

The realization sent a wave of nausea through him. He clenched his fists, struggling to hold onto the fragmented memories flickering at the edge of his consciousness. He had woken up in this room before. Not once. Not twice. But over and over again.

"No," he whispered. "Not again."

A door materialized in front of him—steel, featureless, without a handle. It was the same door he had encountered every single time. He took a deep breath and pressed his palm against it. It wouldn’t budge. He knew that. He had tried everything before—pushing, kicking, screaming for help. The door never moved.

And then, as if on cue, a voice echoed through the room.

"Welcome back, Ethan."

It was a woman's voice. Calm. Detached. Familiar.

He turned, but there was no one there.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

"You already know the answer."

He did. Deep down, he knew. But he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t ready to face the truth.

The voice continued, "Do you remember yet? Or shall we begin again?"

Ethan’s breath quickened. Panic clawed at his throat. He shut his eyes, forcing himself to think. The memories were there, just out of reach, taunting him. He had to remember. He had to break the cycle.

Flashes of something—of someone—appeared in his mind. A woman. Dark eyes, a sharp gaze. A scientist? No, something more. Someone he trusted. Someone who had betrayed him.

"You did this to me," he said, the words tasting like ash.

Silence.

"Why?" he pressed. "Why am I here?"

A chuckle. Soft. Amused. "Because, Ethan, you put yourself here."

The world tilted.

His stomach lurched as the room warped around him, colors bleeding into one another, the white walls dissolving into darkness. His mind reeled as memories crashed over him. He saw himself standing in a lab, wires attached to his head, his own voice murmuring something into a recorder.

"Experiment #257: Testing the effects of recursive memory loops on consciousness."

He staggered back. "No. No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t—"

"Wouldn't you?" the voice interrupted. "You were always obsessed with pushing boundaries. Testing the limits of the human mind. And now, here you are. Stuck."

His own experiment. His own prison.

Ethan felt bile rise in his throat. He had done this to himself. He had wanted to prove something—to unlock something beyond human comprehension. But he had underestimated the consequences.

"How do I get out?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"You tell me."

His thoughts raced. If this was his creation, there had to be a way out. There was always a way out.

He turned to the chair in the center of the room. It was the only object that remained constant. Slowly, he approached it and sat down. As soon as he did, the walls around him flickered, revealing glimpses of the real world beyond the simulation.

He saw the lab again. He saw himself, lying in a chair, wires still attached to his head. His body was still there. His consciousness was trapped.

"I need to wake up," he realized aloud.

"Yes," the voice agreed. "But will you?"

Ethan clenched his jaw. He forced himself to focus, to remember what he had been trying to accomplish. He had built this prison—he could tear it down.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He visualized the real world, the lab, the feeling of waking up. He focused on it with every ounce of his being, willing himself to break free.

The darkness crackled. The world around him began to collapse.

A sharp pain shot through his skull, a searing white-hot agony that made him gasp. But he didn’t stop. He pushed harder, clawing his way back to reality.

And then—

Light.

A sudden, blinding light.

Ethan’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at a ceiling. A real ceiling. The hum of machines surrounded him, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils. His hands trembled as he lifted them, finding wires and sensors still attached to his skin.

He had done it.

He was free.

But as he turned his head, his gaze landed on the computer screen beside him. It was still running the program. The numbers and symbols flickered, data scrolling endlessly.

And in the reflection of the monitor, he saw something that made his blood turn to ice.

A shadow. Standing behind him.

The voice whispered, "Are you sure you’re awake?"

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat.

The screen flickered.

The world around him went black.

And he woke up. Again.