It is rather difficult for me to remember when I first entered this room. Has it been hours, months or weeks? Memory itself seems to be a luxury I no longer possess, so my cognitive ability and logical thinking are crucial in keeping my sanity.

Let me exemplify: It is a logical process to deduce that if one finds itself within a room, there must be some sort of opening that allowed its presence. If no doors and windows are to be seen, the obvious conclusion is that there must be an unseen entrance to the chamber. Quod erat demonstrandum. I use this situation since it is the one I find myself in. The room in question being small and similar to a decaying hotel suite, with a simple attached bathroom, a television, a computer and a huge stain on the floor. Perhaps I am at a hotel, though I certainly can’t remembering entering one.

Now, I am not sure what caused my memory loss, but I am aware it does not happen as portrayed in popular media. Long term memory loss regards the memories from years ago, your name, your mother, those things. Such details of my life seem to be intact, preserved in its fullness. Short memory loss regards experiences of a brief period, which allows you to record new information to your brain, such as you are doing right now while reading this text. It’s is those I’m worried about, for it feels like I’m living the same day over and over again in this damn room, unable to remember exactly what happened yesterday, except for the fact that is was a similar day to the one I’m experiencing.

Everyday I perform the same routine: to wake up, to bath, to eat Froot loops, to watch television, to exercise, to open a can of tuna, to type a few commands on a laptop and to attempt to find a way out.

Before you suggest it, there was no internet available on my device. I simply received commands through what I think was a local network, and the commands were deleted after I had finished obeying them. Simple tasks, like making a code to organise random data. Completing those tasks would generate a text box showing a new amount of money to my bank account, so even if I wasn’t able to use the money, I kept obeying the instructions.

I have also attempted to count the amount of tuna and froot loops available but by the next day the number vanishes from my mind. I have attempted to rummage through every corner of this place, but I also have forgotten the places that have been analysed. If anything was found, it is likely that my brain no longer holds any trace of its existence.

In even less successful attempts, I tried to come up with the reason why my memory has been failing me. As far as I know - and even my knowledge is questionable - the main causes of memory loss are drugs, brain injuries, medication, neurodegenerative diseases and sleep deprivation. Could I have been drugged? I might not know the occasion which led me to this point, but I know myself enough to be sure I would not purposely subject my body to unfamiliar substances and I haven’t been taking medication lately. As for possible injuries, there seem to be no signs of head trauma: no pain, no blood, nothing visible in the mirror. I had no way to tell the hours, so it is rather hard to determine how my sleep schedule was affected. I was rather sluggish, but not drowsy, so I doubted lack of sleep was the main issue of such odd situation.

Well, it seems the most logical conclusion is that someone gave me or has been giving me drugs. For what reason I can not yet fathom. Maybe I was a test subject for an illegal research? I’ve heard stories about MK Ultra and related conspiracy theories. What were the odds that I would end up being a part of such schemes? It sounds silly, like a theory developed by infants or patients with schizophrenia. Human trafficking would obviously be a better explanation, and it would also explain why the door was disguised: so I couldn’t escape. Also, I wouldn’t have to come up with an elaborate justification of why I had been selected. Human traffickers would usually choose whatever woman or kid that seemed to be most vulnerable. I decided to stick with that theory for now, since my session of brainstorm was no longer able to progress.

There was a mirror on the bathroom wall. I could I swear I have seen myself on the mirror a million of times before today. My reflection seemed to me each time more alien, even if there was no change. Oh, I wish there was any change at all! For every time there was a repetition of my experiences, the dejavu feeling would get more intense and more pronounced. I was getting headaches and sick to my stomach by the bare thought of repetition.

That was when I stopped doing the things I would usually do, from eating to watching television to looking for a way out. I must admit that at this point I was at a cathartic state. My thoughts would no longer rely on external sources, but mostly on my own experiences. If thinking about my current situation hadn’t lead to any progress in my plan to escape, than maybe it was better to dwelve into my past.

I was born in Japan, not in the technological version one would imagine, but in a much poorer area. My parents couldn’t afford the necessary resources and time to raise a child, so I was self sufficient before any of my peers. By my early adolescence, the idea of getting a scholarship and entering a prestigious university was deeply rooted in my mind, being my main and only plan. After years of effort, I was finally accepted in a major American international student program. I was delighted to finally live by my own - I must admit my relationship with my parents wasn’t as stable as I would wish, but I was deeply found of my little sister.

But after a few months, the pandemic began. The institution was under a budget cut, which meant the international program was the first one to be cancelled. I had exhausted my savings to find a new place to live outside the campus. However, I had underestimated the extension of the virus effect upon my family. I soon discovered that my sister and father were both dead, and my mother in comatose state. I was all alone and destitute, so in order to pay for my mother’s medical expenses I had to rent a cheaper place and get a remote job.

Oh, it seems like this exercise has brought some of my memories. Indeed, the place I had rented was similar to the one I am now, except for a small window and a door. My remote job was indeed similar to the tasks I receive on my laptop, so it is possible that I am still working even without realising. Maybe the company organised some shady scheme for modern slavery? Well, I shall not anticipate conclusions.

After a year like this, I soon become what the Japanese call Hikikomori: someone who withdraws from society, isolated in their rooms for months or years. I would buy and pay for all my meals online, and receive them by a compartment in my wall- it was a hole, to be honest, which was created by the removal of my broken heater and made the winter nights specially unwelcoming.

I had always kept my body weight at check, but in the first year, I relied mostly on fast food, making me gain weight exponentially. I was certainly anguished, but it was only after a certain time that I became paralysed by depression. I would still keep my daily routine, but I was eating less and less, nauseated by the mere thought of burgers, pizza or tacos. I could survive the week with only five meals, since my body had enough fat to use as energy for awhile.

What once started as online criticism over my obesity, soon turned into praise for the change. Praise, I must say, that was oblivious to the influence of depression upon my weight loss. Praise that acted as gasoline, sparking and enabling a major eating disorder. The last time I checked the scales, my weight was 84 pounds. After two years in this state, some control was established, so I wouldn’t neither gain or loose weight. My face was no longer as beautiful and young as it once was, but I had adapted to my cadaverous appearance, to the point I can barely remember my reflection in any other way.

My looks weren’t of any trouble, since there was no one to judge me. I have been labelled asexual once, but truth is my life couldn’t have been any other way, having no desire to engage with others, let alone to develop relationships. There were times when I doubted if it was a wise choice. Especially in times of illness.

Once I was diagnosed with Huntington’s disease, a neurodegenerative disease caracterized by memory loss (well, that explains my current state), loss of coordination, depression or mood swings, involuntary movements, hallucinations, speech difficulties, difficulty concentrating, among other symptoms. Of course, having a partner would help me understand my surroundings in a different light. It even makes me wonder… could the lack of windows and doors be just an hallucination? Yes, that would make sense! But how could I end this nightmare?

Nevermind, it is too cold now, this winter has been worse than any of the previous ones, not that I can remember them quite well. I might continue with my plan tomorrow, can’t I? For now, I must cover myself, for my hands feel as cold as ice. I shall lay down and get my best blankets, and simply enjoy some rest. I wonder if I will still remember everything tomorrow…

I just woke up with voices and noises like the ones a key would produce, as if someone is opening my door! Yes, it is coming from the direction the door should be, someone finally discovered my location! I shall finally escape this slavery company that has been making me work like a lunatic, like I was going crazy!

“I hope you guys don’t mind, I always do my best to warn clients in such situations. Most real state agents would not tell you, but I think it is unethical to sell a place one would not feel safe, religiously speaking.”

“Hi! Who are you?” I asked, trembling as I watch a couple and an elegant woman entering through what before had just been another wall.

“We changed all the wood floor, to avoid the blood stains to cause rotting smell and mold.” The woman continued, ignoring me as if I was invisible. “You can see for yourselves, all clean and fresh smelling, it feels like any cozy apartment.”

My legs failed me, making me fall. Where our bodies should have collapsed, nothing happened, as if I was made of liquid, passing through her.

“How long has the previous tenant been dead before they found her? It must be quite a while if it was long enough to substantially damage the floor.”

“I am not sure if I should divulge such sensitive information… But… Well, the place was completely empty, so it took two years. I will understand if you are not confortable, given the ghost folklore in such circumstances. We can look for other places.”

Everything suddenly made sense, and I start screaming as I haven’t for all my life. And as I shrieked and screeched, I finally ceased to be. It was not peace, it was the end of purgatory.