The Room of Unpleasant Experiences

[-Lacie-]

There was a door. On this thick, heavy-hewn oaken door, was a beautiful plaque. Embossed in gold and lined with jewels, the words were clearly seen, easily understood and clear from all Unknown.

"The Room of Unpleasant Experiences"

There was nothing else on the sign, making certain the eye caught the name, and relegated the correct amount of caution to the brain, which would, in turn, change the course of the footsteps, fingertips inching towards the bone-engraved doorknob.

Curiosity. The ultimate Lure.

There was no turning back.

Once the first tip of the first finger got within an inch or so of the knob, it was soon covered by a tensed fist, trying to pull away.

That didn't matter. The mind was set. The decision was made. There was no turning back. The knob turned.

Now here is where it gets sorta .... weird. Hang on.

There is something else inputting signals, but it is .... let's say, weaker. So this weaker thing is making an... action. So what does this input mean?

"RUN!"

Flight or Fight. Right, there's that now. No, the mind was set. The decision was made. The choice was selected. The proof? Look at the hand on the doorknob.

Now the foot makes a motion the brain would never be able to achieve on its own. Eyes blink, look forward, into the darkness of the room.

It is empty.

"Come in and close the door. You are not alone."

Hope. One of the deadliest tools in his arsenal. Smell the Terror yet?

"Where am I?"

"Does it matter?"

Choice. Second deadliest tool in the arsenal.

A million questions all in an instant. The brain was good at doing that. Unknowns. What to ask first... if at all? Too many choices, too many possibilities.

From the Shadow of one corner seems to appear a small, frail creature, walking with an aid of some sort.

Comfort.

Just the vaguest hint that an enemy may be smaller or .... weaker in some way, that sense of superiority completely wipes away both caution and heed.

"What is this place?" The mouth does ~exactly~ what it wants, when it wants to.

Impulsiveness.

At once, images of an exploding mountain flood the senses, while intense heat seems to sear off the skin.

There's the 'Storm.

Minutes pass, pain levels lower and the heat subsides eventually. It takes the brain longer after a shock though, to understand that the mouth's question had been answered. Clearly, plainly and concisely.

There's only one chance. The head turns, bringing shoulders along for pivotal energy, in a desparate attempt to turn for where it was a moment ago.

The thick, heavy-hewn oaken door closed, rattling things on the walls, which banged and rattled against each other.

[-Lacie-]

-2-

Something caught your attention ... there, to the right.

Hope.

The bricks at the base of the wall have crumbled. There is a hole, a possible path.

There. Now you're hopelessly deadlocked into a situation which your mind won't forgive you if you don't go look at that hole in the wall.

Who's in charge now?

"That's a dead end. There's a beast in there that favors the fat off the thigh first."

Deafen. The Art of Not Listening.

Does anyone really Know the ~why~ of Deafen? Why create an Art which sends a nerve-jarring tone towards another, friend or foe? That's not lacking the ability to hear. That's white noise.

So why can you not Deafen yourself? Well, duh... ever try to make yourself listen to white noise??!?!?!?! Won't happen.

You fall flat on the floor, the entity in the room can be heard across the room.

"You'll get stuck and die. Stay here with me. You Know what you will get here. The rest is.... Unknown."

You belly slides against the floor, wiggling and forcing too many well-laid meals through the small opening. Exhale. Hold your breath. There seems to be a light of some sort ahead.

No. That's the lack of Air. It doesn't matter. The choice has been made.

The closer you go to the Light, the dizzier and fuzzier everything is becoming.

"A mistake. I must go back! HELP!"

"I can pull you out."

Back to the Room of Unpleasant Experiences.