the cycle of hell

The way you wake up is in an empty room.

There’s a single bed. No sheets. No pillows.

Only a mattress.

And for some reason, there's a rope and a mirror.

You hop off the bed and circle the room.

There’s no door.

The walls are white and sickeningly clean.

The whiteness is blinding but you can't look away, and it sears your eyes like when you lean in to close to a fire.

You stare and stare and stare until you can't take it anymore and your eyes are pulsing your pulse racing and your breath jerking up and down in a syncopation symphony.

Out of nowhere, a feral scream bubbles out of your throat and you manage to tear yourself from that wall.

How long have you been staring? An hour? A minute? Your head is too foggy to tell.

But somehow you know that its the room, those endless white walls that mock you from within.

You can't take it anymore.

In a moment of clarity, you rush to the mirror and smash it with your fist.

Showers of glass rain down on you and blood is dripping from your palm as you grasp the largest piece.

Blood leaks from your fingers as you furl your hand tightly around the glass.

You must be insane, but without hesitation you do it anyway, plunging the glass into your forearm.

You watch the blood leak from the cut and giggle, but the giggle's not yours.

Unwillingly your fingers, already smeared in blood, come down to smear the blood all over your arm.

Then you notice several other healing cuts all over your arm.

You lean on the wall and realize it still hurts to look at it.

Smack! You leave a handprint on the wall. Then several more.

You dance and dance, leaving blood-red handprints everywhere.

Eventually, you get tired and you sag on the wall, wondering what the hell just happened.

You collapse onto the floor and you notice the ropes within reach.

Again...

Your hands move on their own accord, like its a routine...or a habit.

They grab the rope and before you know it-

It's around your neck and your hands are pulling and pulling and you leak in and out of consciousness.

In a moment you look up hazily to see the wall opposite of you has the words written in crusty, dried, blood: See you next time!

And unwittingly your hands pull one last time and-

The way you wake up is in an empty room.