In front of you is a yellow room. In between you and the room lies a long dark hallway. There are many doors on the side of the hallway, but most of them are locked. How is it that you know? It's a simple fact. Just like the fact that you need to go to the room. Way out here, where you stand, there is almost no light. If you put out your hand in front of you, you can't see your fingers properly. You're not even sure how you can see the doors out here in the hallway. Your common sense tells you that they should all be wrapped in the same darkness that surrounds yourself.
Yes - after all, the only source of light is that room. That lone yellow room. It calls to you. Just looking at the direction in which it lies makes your heart beat fast. It's a strange feeling. One that you haven't felt for a long time. You had forgotten the name of this sentiment. If it's to be put into human terms, you guess that it would have to be called nostalgia.
That's right - this is nostalgia. A longing. Something that you've been missing. For a very long time now; years maybe? Longer than that? It's so familiar yet, because of the passage of time, it feels so foreign. You feel apprehensive. Like an adult returning to the house in which he grew up. There's always that doubt - the lingering thought in the back of the mind - the inevitable comparison.
Comparing things to the way you remember them to the way that they stand now.
You find that you're trembling. Is it because you're cold? This place doesn't seem to be very warm.
That's not it. That's not it at all. This isn't due to the temperature. It's due to your own feelings. You're feeling something that all living beings feel. Something that's deeply inscribed into all life forms. It's a survival mechanism after all. An indispensable tool.
Yes - you're feeling fear. Fear of change. Or is it fear of the unknown? Or of the past? It doesn't matter now much anyways. You're here and there's no other option other than walking forward. You place your hand on your bosom - it's warm. You feel around for your heartbeat. Your heart is beating with an irregular beat. It's something more than fear you think. It's excitement as well that's making you feel like this.
You take a quick look behind you. You don't know why. Just for the sake of doing so perhaps. A black darker than the most empty stretches of the cosmos extends behind you. It's not that there's a lack of light behind you, but rather the concept of light doesn't exist there at all. It's a pure place. Not to be feared. Unlike that which lies in front of you.
You gulp down hard. You can't linger around here forever. It's just not possible. It's not allowed. Nothing will happen unless you take a step forward. Or maybe something will happen. That scares you. That thought scares the living hell out of you. The unknown. No, you can't allow that to happen.
You take a step forward. It's as if you're unsure of how to walk. You stumble for a bit but don't fall over. You try again to walk. This time it's much easier. Now that your motor skills seem to be working you walk towards the light. You pass discarded trays and carts on your way. They've been strewn around as if they have no importance. As if they're just disposable tools that are of limited use and always break down.
You see it, despite the darkness. The decrepit state of this building. A lot of the doors have holes in them. Gaps leading to places unknown to you. You avoid looking at them. You do not want to know what lies there. You do not need to know. The walls as well are discolored; the paint is flaking all over and there are stains caused by the age of the coat of paint. The walls - the whole edification, they were once completely white. Pure as pristine mountain snow. But now, despite the lack of color, you know that everything has acquired a sepia tone. It's all over. It's finished, done, kaput. What was once a peaceful and calming color is now a dirty, filthy canvas.
You don't relent. Edging closer to the room. You can see a couple of details now. A few small tables. Operating lights. Yes, excellent. It's just as before. Just as that time. There's still hope. There's still a chance.
You're happy. It makes you really happy to see this. You quicken your pace, ignoring the debris and obstacles in your path. It is then that you hear the voice. That voice. That damn voice. It was always there, you recall now. Always singing. Always, always singing. Singing what, you don't know. You suppose that it's soothing for the singer. But to you it just makes you feel sick. Sick to your stomach. You don't really know if it's a male voice or a female. So much time has passed that you don't think that it's important. It's sickening. There's no doubt about it. With everything else was going on, that damn voice just kept singing. What was its deal anyways? Did it want everything to turn out the way that it did? Is it the one responsible?
Either way, you hate it. You hate it so much that you begin singing as well. Well, not really. The sounds that escape you though are more like a discordant melody. Hardly musical. But it helps you. It blocks out the singing.
Finally, you reach the room. You didn't even realize you had traveled the last few meters already. It's as you remember it. Exactly as you remember it. Everything is in place. The examination bed, the little trolleys containing the tools. It's as if time had not passed in this room. Even the paint looks brand new. The aging that you saw outside of here has not spread. At least it hasn't touched this room. The corruption of time. You can't believe it spared this place.
So much was done here. You did most of the work of course. Or was the work done on you? It doesn't really matter anymore. The thing is that you learned here. You acquired truly irreplaceable knowledge.
Aha! The cabinet! It's still there. You walk over to it and open one of the drawers. All of the files are still there. The complete records. Everything from the first experiment to the ongoing investigation. It's all archived there. If you so felt inclined, then you could review them all. There's nothing stopping you. This is magnificent. It's a true treasure trove. You flip through one of the files quickly. Charts, reports, notes. You recognize the handwriting on a lot of them. How could you ever forget? It's yours. You wrote most of these. Of course, you weren't alone. But at the time you were bearing the brunt of the whole project by yourself basically.
But, something else catches your eye. It's a single sheet of paper. It's on a nearby desk. It could be easily overlooked since it's neatly folded up. You pick it up and unfold it. You recognize this paper as well. This should be the final entry. The one that you never got to finish. What a shame. But at the same time it's a relief. The biggest mystery of all was left unsolved. It ensured that this travesty could not be replicated easily. The onus was, and will continue to be, yours.
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>>8124 If you're a zombie, then please don't try to eat me. I promise not to shotgun your face in return.
