[You have been put in a dark room...you have no idea why you are there. You have no idea who has put you there. You can't see anything. Tell us your thoughts, what you are feeling. What smells there are. What you hear...What does the silence do for your composure.]



It's dark.

I realize this as I open my eyes and blink hard, trying to make sure my eyes are open.

For a moment, I freeze in place. I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here. I hold my breath, trying to retrace my last memories. Nothing comes to mind. Just going to sleep, in my own bed.

Maybe this is just a dream.

*pinch*

Not a dream.

Now what?

OK. Don't panic. Maybe there's a door. I slowly uncurl myself and sit up slowly, just in case I'm hurt or something. Everything feels fine, so I slowly stand up. Still fine. I put my hands out in front of me and feel my way around. Slowly, I walk around the room, feeling the wall, fighting an occasional wave of panic brought on by frustration. I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to feel the walls thoroughly.

There's nothing in here? How can that be? There's nothing on the walls. No shelves, no windows, no doors?

I keep count of the corners as I walk and, when I get to four, I sit down again.

Deep breaths. Don't panic. Now what?

Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a voice says, "It is very dark. You may be eaten by a grue." I manage a nervous laugh, which echos strangely in the room. That Halloween episode of "Felicity" comes to mind; the weird roommate's secret box really had the main characters in it. I shake these thoughts from my mind. This isn't the time for random, obscure pop culture references, I sternly tell myself.

So what is it time for?

One of the voices in my brain yells, "PANIC! It's time to panic!"

Some of the other voices (who knew there were so many?) agree, but a particularly loud and bossy one doesn't.

There is no need to panic. Somebody put you here and they'll come get you. Everything is going to be fine.

The voices start to argue.

What if somebody doesn't come back? What if they forgot me?

Why would somebody do this to me? What do they want from me?

Am I going to die? Am I already dead?

ENOUGH! STOP IT!

The stern voice takes over again and, somehow, I manage to quell the rising panic. I realize that I've curled up in a fetal position and have begun to rock. This will not do, I think.

I sit quietly for a few minutes. Or at least I think it's a few minutes. I'm really not sure. Anyway. I sit still for a moment and then laugh aloud. I'm in a room with no apparent way in or out. I can't hear anything...

Wait. Can I?

I hold my breath, straining to hear something. Anything.

Wow. Who knew silence could be so.....quiet?

It's very quiet. I swear I can hear my heartbeat.

Tentatively, I whisper, "Hello?" I swallow hard, risk a louder "Hello?"

Nothing.

That voice comes back. "We are not going to yell. We are not going to shout. We're not going to freak out."

Why am I suddenly starting to refer to myself in a plural form?

In a vain attempt to relax, I try to remember some of the yoga I'd learned in a class I thought I'd stick with longer than two weeks. I do the morning routine, greeting a sunrise I can't see. It feels good to stretch, but it's not helping any.

I take a mental evaluation of my senses.

I hold my hand in front of my face. I can't see it. I move my hand toward my face, slowly, and touch it, feeling for any reason for the darkness. Nothing.

I pinch myself again. Still feeling pain, which is good.

I close my eyes and sniff at the air. Nothing.

I decide not to lick the wall, assuming that there's really little chance they're made of something edible, though one of the new voices in my head does seem to like the possibility.

The panic begins to rise again. More of the voices in my head are going along with it this time. I can feel my heart beat faster, hear it pounding in my ears.

I'm going to die in here. If I'm not already dead. I'm going to die. I'm too young to die. Why is this happening to me? Why? WHY?

"ENOUGH!"

I can hear the stern voice in my head, battling for control. I'm not sure I want to listen, and there are several voices in my head refusing to listen. Eventually, the stern voice takes control.

"We are not panicking. We do not panic."

I realize I've said this aloud and laugh nervously.

This is ridiculous.

I'm suddenly very tired. Who knew arguing with myself like this could be so exhausting?

Despite a warning voice from one of the voices, I decide that sleeping is a really good idea. I curl up on the floor and try to quiet the voices. Gradually, one by one, they stop protesting. Fleetingly, before I sleep, I recognize the irony that I'll be able to see things in my dreams, but not when I open my eyes. This time, I'm too tired to panic.