Blank Canvas

Chapter 1

Every drop of water echoed violently around the cold stone room. It was a periodic drip of refreshing damp that came every few seconds from the browning crack in the white plaster ceiling. It caught my eye each and every time it fell – being the only interference to my train of thought. You see I was a philosopher, I spent whole days just sat, thinking about every aspect of life I could recall. Not out of choice you must realise, everyone else in my situation had their whole sinful lives to evoke, to churn over and over in their minds. Not me, I didn't even have the pleasure of remembering what it was I had done, let alone the rest of my life. I suppose punishment isn't as affective when you don't remember what it was you were being punished for, even less when you don't know if you even did anything at all. I suppose I never even knew entirely that this place was a prison, all I ever saw was the inside of a cell, I could only assume that whatever I 'did' was so bad that they couldn't even risk letting me leave. Every so often a small hatch at the side of my desk would open quickly, a small grimy plastic plate coated in 'food' (either oats, some kind of lentil soup and mouldy or stale bread, or potatoes and some sort of greasy processed 'meat' depending on the time of day) would slide through, before the shutter behind the hatch was aggressively shut again. 'Social interaction is unbeatable' I thought to myself, before smiling to myself at what wonderful company I was.

I looked over at the desk, oats, must be morning, although the term had completely lost any meaning since I slept whenever I got bored of myself. I shovelled spoonful after spoonful into my mouth, every so often wiping creamy lumps from my overgrown facial hair and devouring them appreciatively. 'I'm not too ill mannered for your liking am I?' I asked, realising I had company. I laughed 'No not at all I replied'. I wasn't insane, I had merely realised that some company would be much better use of my dynamic mind than mere insanity. I didn't know quite how long I had been in the cells, but I do know that it had been almost 8 scheduled meal days since I woke up. I knew that when I woke up I was clean shaven. Before I had figured out the actuality of the situation I thought that it was possible that I had only been here for 8 days, although I also toyed with the idea that I had been given a weekly bath and shave or something the day before I woke up. Of course now I have come to realise that I was not actually anywhere before I woke up.

When my eyes first opened I didn't quite realise what was going on, that disoriented morning feeling counteracted the fact that I had no memory. When I first looked around I was more unsettled than confused, I scanned the mostly empty room up and down for a few minutes before concluding that there was almost no chance it could be anything but a cell. It took a few minutes before I wondered how I got there only to realise I dint know. Only to realise that I dint know anything, who I was, why I was there, what colour my hair was, what colour my eyes were. Of course I knew all the fundamentals of life, everything you learn without noticing, the English language, how to walk, what it is too see, general social and historical knowledge, when you need to go to the toilet. But as far as I was concerned… I had never learnt or done any of those things before in my life.

So now you may be able to understand my problem with entertaining myself with memories and dreams.