A Room

Though there was no means of keeping time in the room, he could almost feel the hours trickle by as he watched the door. Each moment that passed struck a blow to his confidence, driving into him the lingering fear that he was alone, that no one was going to come and explain it all to him. Time accumulated and merged, solidifying into one solid past.

His stomach begin to groan. He had no idea when his last meal had been, how long he had lain in the bed sleeping and the realisation that he was hungry only served to intensify the pangs. Roused by his hunger, he began to sniff at the air, scenting the smell of cooking meat wafting.

The smell was sweet and rich, filling his lungs and, as he savoured its texture. His mouth begin to salivate. The room echoed with the sound of his stomach groaning as it gurgled unpleasantly.
Blowing from the shadows on the cold breath came the scent of food and, as he inhaled, his stomach churned painfully in response. The smell was intoxicating, his head filled with images of meat and bread, tables of rich, comfort food offering themselves up to him. The smell drove him on.

He climbed out of the bed, pulling the sheet off and dressing himself in the thin cotton. He staggered out of the room and into the corridor. As his feet crossed onto the white, smooth floor, he slipped. His arm reached out instinctively to grab the wall to steady himself.

He grasped at the soft, rotten plaster. His fingers sank into the damp fetid flesh of the wall as he stabilised himself. He pulled his hand back sharply, the damp, cold moisture of the walls suck at his hand, reluctant to let him go. He wiped his palm across the white sheet he wore like a toga. He ignored the yellow, oily stain that was left, content instead to focus on the looming darkness.

He stood in a puddle of flickering sepia light. He could see nothing in the shadows that surrounded him.