My eyes strain as they get adjusted to the bright colorless room. I look around, the room is unfamiliar. I don't know how I got here. It's small and empty except for the mattress I woke up on. I know I'm being watched, there's cameras in both corners of the room, which seems obsessive. All that I have with me is this notebook, a pen, and an empty cup. I'm wearing my own clothes, a grey hoodie, white tee and cargo pants. Basic, I know. My pockets have been emptied. Keys, wallet, grocery list, and a small drawing of a cat done by my daughter are all gone. I wish they could have at least left that. There's a small door that cannot be opened from the inside, the handle is completely gone. Broken off. I feel unusually calm, why? How long have I even been here? I looked at my wrist. Great, they took my watch too. I traced the walls for any sort of opening, button, a crack– just anything that could give me an insight. I found nothing. I don't hear a single thing. No wind or footsteps. I feel as if I'm in one of those lunatic asylums. Maybe I am? But, I promise I'm not insane. I do know I didn’t voluntarily come here. Why would I? What is this place? Who took me here?

It hasn't been that long since I last wrote. I think? My guess is that it's only been a few hours. All I've been doing is walking in circles, looking for any little thing that could help me understand where I am and why. Which is pointless of course. I've been holding in my pee since I woke up. With no sign of anyone coming, I think I have to use the cup. I haven't peed in a cup since a road trip back in college. This must be some sort of humiliation bullshit. Peeing in front of a camera? Why would anyone want to see that. I've tried calling for someone earlier and got no reply. I banged on the door and the walls for what seemed like forever. All that followed was a hollow silence, which eats at my soul more and more.

I jolt awake to a sudden sound. I felt it rumble through the cold floor as I was lying. I quickly run up to the door, shouting as much as my dry throat can bear.

"Help! Is anybody there?!"

I tried banging, shoving, and kicking the door. Still, it wouldn't budge.

And the sound came back.

It's a low sound that lasted a few seconds. I can't make anything of it. It sounds too far away from where I was.

"Hello?! Let me out of here!"

I kept shouting for help, stopping occasionally to listen to any new sound.

But there was nothing.

I kept trying to make as much noise and be as loud as possible, kept shouting and banging on the immovable door. Every once in a while, the sound comes back. I can feel pressure in the sockets of my eyes start getting stronger.

"Is this some sick fucking joke? Huh?! What do you want from me?!"

Is this a punishment for what I did?

"Just let me out! I'll fucking do anything..." A painful sob escapes my throat. "Please..."

I felt my eyes burn up in tears as I kept shouting until my voice couldn't produce anything but a hoarse cry. I kept kicking and hitting the door until my hands and feet felt numb and my limbs had to give up on me.

My body slumps down by the door. I can see the notebook I abandoned hours ago. Days ago? I don't know anymore. I'm tired. I just want to go home. I have to go home. She's waiting for me, my daughter—

The sound comes back just as an intense ringing pounds through my head. I squeeze my head with my hands, grunting in pain, willing it to go away.

The sound and the ringing stopped, but the pain is still there. A thrum in my head. At least it's not so quiet anymore. My daughter... What was her name? It hurts. My head. I can't. I can't remember. Anything. When I think about her, there's no face that comes to mind. Just the bright white of the room I am in. How did I get here again? My pockets feel empty. There should've been some things in there. I put it there, I remember.

...Not really. I can't remember anything. My head hurts. Why do I not have anything in my pockets?

The pen. Was that in my pocket? No, I don't think so. I remember seeing it. My head hurts less now, but the pain is still there. The pen. I remember seeing it when I first woke up. And the notebook too, which I abandoned hours ago. Days ago? I don't know anymore.

There was another thing, wasn't there? There were three of them, I remember.

...Not really. I'm tired. I crawl my way onto the mattress. There's that sound again. No ringing this time, thankfully.

I think I'll sleep. The darkness engulfed my vision slowly.

Maybe I'll remember it later. My daughter. And the cup.