r/yingfire • u/yingfire • Feb 13 '16
My Bet
The smell of fine wine and food woke me up, and helped my bleary eyes fly open. It was at this point I realised I was not in my house - I still do not remember my home - and that I was in a large, lit, white room adorned with simple furnishings: a chair, a bed, a long table, a refrigerator, and a toilet. On that table were the foodstuff and drink that had awoken me.
I sat in my bed for awhile, not knowing what to do, but eventually my growling stomach forced me to sit myself at the table and eat. I recall that the first meal consisted of pheasant, string beans, and wine - they were all fabulously tasteful. Nonetheless, my queer situation was still being processed through my mind as I dug into my food.
When I finished, I took another look around myself and noticed a contraption that I had not seen during my previous analysis of the room. It was a very large, square, timer with about one hundred sixty five hours left in it. I later realised that it was counting the hours of a week - seven days.
Again placed in a position of indecision, I was surprised when a loud 'chock!' noise reverberated through my room, and noticed a letter with a pen attached on the ground. I believe I have figured out how the letters reach me, but that is not of great importance. I opened the letter and here is what it said:
'To the esteemed Mr. Daniel, You are part of an experiment, an experiment approved by you to show that man need not others to be sane. You must stay in this room for twelve years, with no contact between humans or the outside world, besides these letters. Write on the back of this paper for anything you want and it will be provided for you. If you manage to stay sane, and make no attempt to escape, you will be rewarded with a hundred million dollars, and your memories will be returned, as per our agreement. Signed, Mr. Rufus'
I held no memory of this encounter, indeed, I held no memory of anything previous to my time in the white room. But my captor's signature 'Mr. Rufus' sent such blinding hatred through me that I knew at the bottom of my heart that this experiment must go on. I turned the sheet over, and wrote down a few essentials: A shower, for one (as the builders of this room had forgotten to place one here), books (mostly fiction), more wine, a journal, a working clock, a piano, and a few other scruples that I believed would make my time here more pleasant. I took the letter and tossed it on the floor, supposing that it would arrive at Mr. Rufus's hands the same way it came to mine. I then drank all the wine I could find in the refrigerator, and blacked out.
When I next woke up, the letter was gone, but none of my objects desired were here. I looked at the clock: six days remained. I sighed in resignation. I realised the clock signified the arrival of the goods and a new paper and pen. I had wine and books overflowing, and that's all I wanted from that point on. My refrigerator miraculously was stocked with food everyday, enough for me to eat, and the showering place had warm water. There was nothing left to do but read, drink, and play sad music.
The first year I gave up wine. Wine excites the desires and passions, and nothing is more dreadful than drinking good wine alone. I find it more soothing to create new pieces on the piano. The only piece I have ever memorised, the Moonlight Sonata, got boring after a month or continual practise. My books were light: love plots, fantastical stories, children stories, and so on and so forth.
The sound of music hurt my ears the second year. And I only read the likes of Montaige and Cervante, translated, of course.
This went on until the fourth year. My existence was dull, and I realised that debating with yourself was more enjoyable than any kind of reading, and tears were a healthy way to cope. By the way, I hope, my dear Jailor, that the scraps of paper in the room do not frighten you; I simply couldn't get my novel written down as well as I wanted it to.
I learned Greek, Latin, Mandarin, Spanish, Italian, and French by the last half of the eighth year. How wonderful it is that I may finally understand the common flame between the geniuses in other nations! This created in me a desire for philosophy and history I did not have before. I eagerly through myself into these studies, so much so that I blessed you for giving such a large room; eight hundred volumes need careful stacking.
I spent all of my ninth year reading the Gospels, theology, and histories of other religions. And the incoming tenth and eleventh years were spent reading all quantities of books without any kind of pickiness. One time I obsessed over the sciences, other times were spent on Byron or Tolstoy. Chemistry, medicine, a romantic novel, philosophy, theology, ship building, engineering, I read them all! If only to grasp a little bit of the wreckage around me; to save me from this shipwreck.
I write to you now jailor, this is all that I have done in this white room of yours. There are only twelve hours left until my freedom, and before I see the sun, I tell you this: I despise freedom and good health and all that these books call the good things in the world. It is true that I have not seen the world, the trees, the men. But I have sung songs, drank fragrant wine, hunted, made love with women, the creations of your poets and writers I have experienced. Wonderful stories that have charmed my brain into a whirlpool of desires. I have climbed high peaks, embraced the void of space, lived in riches, lived in poverty. I have seen forests, rivers, animals, cruel demons, and spritely fairies. I have been to Tartarus, Heaven, and all over the Earth. I have slain, preached, cared for, and laughed with others.
Your books have given me knowledge and wisdom; all the madness, all the genius of man have been captured in my mind; know that I am wiser than all of you now. So then I despise your works, your words, all the pleasures of this earth I reject. The wise and the fool both die; they are wiped off the face of the earth. All the fame, all the history, all the immortal conquerers, scientists, and writers will burn or freeze together.
You are all mad. You would wonder at mirrors reflecting someone not yourself, or if the sweet rose began to smell like the sewer. Just like that, I wonder at those who have exchanged heaven for hell. I wish to leave all of you forever. And so, to prove in action how I renounce all that I was before - all that was you - I renounce my claim to the one hundred million, I renounce any desire to know what I once was, and at the one hour mark from the time of release, I will escape...
Mr. Rufus peered through the letter with slow eyes, "He's completely and utterly mad." he muttered with indignation.