Stimulus Response Book

The Facility

I don't dream at night,

I dream all day;

I dream for a living.

-Steven Spielberg

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He woke up with a jolt, panting and panicking, but at what he didn't know yet. His eyes were wide and wild, scanning every inch of the alien, blood-bathed room he found himself trapped in. Trying to calm himself down before he began hyperventilating and couldn't stop, he clutched the sheets and shut his eyes tight in an attempt to remember where he was. Try as he might, nothing was coming to mind about the events leading up to this moment. And then he realized something that almost put him into another panic attack: he couldn't remember anything. 

My name, what's my name?! Am I a captive here? Who am I? Gritting his teeth, the man forced his eyes open and searched the room again, ignoring the screaming in his brain to RUN. As he glanced around, he realized that the red walls weren't red at all, rather, the ombre color was pulsating softly against stark white walls.

He was in a four by four room that contained only the bed he was sitting on; there were no closets, no dressers, no tables or chairs, nothing. The only reason to occupy the room was to sleep in it. At the base of every wall, he noticed a thin strip of light that aimed the beams upward against the walls; that was the source of the creepy red mood lighting. 

The man couldn't remember why he had been put in the room, but he knew without a doubt that he didn't belong there. I'd never willingly make this my bedroom. And there's nothing in here or on the walls that suggest I live here permanently. So why am I here? One thing was sure though: the color red signaled danger, and this shade wasn't relaxing at all. He slipped out from underneath the blankets, and only then realized his state of clothing. A white bathrobe that was tied at the waist, along with matching white tube socks, were all the wordly possessions he owned at the moment. All that I remember I own, at least. 

He hesitated when leaving the room, but when he heard a faint alarm ringing in the distance he knew he wouldn't be able to just wait until someone came for him. I don't even know if I'm some sort of prisoner or not...if I wait, I could just get locked back up. Pushing the door open, and registering that there was no locking mechanism on the handle, he poked his head out into a hallway that was the same color as inside his room. He scanned the corridor; no one was in sight, and he was pretty confidant that anyone who was supposed to be around had evacuated long ago. Or ran to whatever emergency caused the alarm. 

The man then realized he had a choice: right or left. Since the source of the alarm sounded like it was coming from the right, he chose to run away from it, looking for any other doors that might lead to a storage closet or coat room so he could borrow better clothes. There were several other locked doors that looked identical to his as he ran down the hall, but none that were promising. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should be stressing out more about his circumstances, but was able to push it away so that he could deal with getting out of there.

This must be who I am in a stressful situation: calm and collected, able to deal with danger reasonably. Or at least that's what he hoped because he had no clue if there was more of this to come or if he could escape and learn the truth about himself in a safe place. Soon he came to a another hallway that stretched to the left and right of him and he had to make a decision. At the end of the left side he could see a double door that looked like it belonged in a hospital. Was I being treated for something? 

And then a horrifying thought came after: am I in the psych ward? After thinking about this for a minute, he decided that no, he couldn't be in here for being mentally disturbed because he didn't feel crazy. But that doesn't mean I wasn't stuck in a place like it by someone who didn't want me around. Now he was getting distracted by more theories on why he ended up in the strange builindg and where it was exactly. Shaking his head, he got a grip on the reality of the situation and chose to go right--where there probably wasn't a locked door in his way.