I came to inside a white room with no doors and no windows. To say I ‘woke up’ didn’t fit as I didn’t experience any sort of grogginess like I was emerging from unconsciousness. I simply wasn’t, and then I was. I was there in that white room with no doors and no windows, and a faint glow of light emanating from the corners, it’s source unknown or cleverly hidden. I was sitting on a chair; metal, able to fold up smaller, small padded cushion, and there was a box sitting in front of me, about half as tall as I was but the bottom curved into the floor making it seem more like the box protruded from the floor as opposed to being it’s own separate thing. I ran my hands along it, smooth to the touch, and there was a small slot in the side. No other markings or buttons or parts, just one thin slot. Was I supposed to put something in or was something going to come out? I had no idea.

I walked the edge of the room, running my hand along the wall, checking for any hidden doors or small seals. Completely enclosed; there didn’t seem to be a way out unless I was going to fold myself up into that slot. Even the corners there was no break in the wall, no encasement for the light, a screen it might be shining out of. Just one area that happened to be brighter than the rest. It didn’t even feel warmer to the touch.

There was a lot I could tell about the small room I was in – the white walls, the light, the box, the chair; but none of that told me what it was for, or what I was doing there.

Sitting in the chair contemplating what my next move was going to be, or what it could be, a slip of paper fell out of the slot on the box. I picked it and read it:

– What is the capital of Argentina?

The capital of Argentina, how was I supposed to know that? More importantly, where did this paper come from, and who was asking me this question? I looked at the paper trying to find out more, but it was just a plain white piece of paper, nothing much to speak of. Then another one slipped out of the box.

– What is the square root of 11025?

What was this line of questioning about? Geography and mathematics, how were these supposed to be related? And why did they think I would know the answer?

That was an interesting revelation, how I just assumed it was a They, a collection of people who were doing this to me. Had they locked me up in here somehow as some sort of test? If so, what was the purpose? Had they mistaken me for someone else? Then my mind began spinning out of control as I quickly realized, if they had locked me up in here where had I come from before? What was my life outside of this room and why couldn’t I remember it? Did I even have a life outside of this room?

Another slip of paper:

– Are you there?

“Yes I’m here, of course I’m here, where else would I be!” I yelled in frustration.

– Good. And do you know the answer to either of those questions?

“Of course not, how could I?” I crumpled up the last piece of paper and threw it on the floor.

– Your point is valid. We have some things to consider. Have a good night.

We, they had said – or typed – We. So, I was right in thinking that there were multiple people involved in this, whatever This was. If they had a way to get all of this, and me, in here than there must also be a way to get me out.

There was no time, no sense of passing, as I sat there in the quiet and waited. Waited for what? Something to do, something to change, something to happen. A passive sense of existence completely out of my control as I waited for others to direct me and my actions. Slips of paper would come in with questions or statements – I learned quickly that I had to speak out loud for Them to hear my answers – which were usually, “I don’t know”. Then I’d crumple the paper into a ball and toss it in the corner with the others.

I looked at the box, the only object other than the chair and pile of crumpled paper in the room. The slit looked kind of like a mouth hanging slightly agape, and the light created a certain glare that looked like eyes. It could be its own little being trapped in here with me, fighting its own battle to remain sane.

“Well hello their friend, I didn’t recognize you there. How have you been keeping yourself busy? Do you know the Others on the other side of these walls?”

…

“Hmm, that’s an interesting point that you make. How much can we really know other than what they tell us, right? And even then, how can we trust what they tell us is true?”

…

“I think trust is something earned, not simply given. What have they done to build that trust?”

…

“Okay, okay, that’s fair. New thread – what’s the best place you’ve ever been?”

…

“No way, me too! Though I think I’m a little biased as this Room is the only place I’ve been. Feels a bit like it wins by default; still, I’m glad we can share that.” A slip of paper slipped out of its mouth. And I caught it before it hit the ground. “Looks like you spit up a little something there, let’s see what it says.”

– Who are you talking to?

“My new friend, the Box. Who else would I be talking to? There’s nothing else to do around here but wait until I’m beckoned by these little slips of paper. How else am I to make the time pass?” I crumpled it up and threw the slip in the pile. Another one slipped out of Box’s mouth, but I ignored it and sat down.

Time continued, or I supposed it did as there was nothing to mark its passing. There was only responding to the slips and waiting to respond to the slips, and I was not responding to the slips. I sat on the chair ignoring a small growing pile on the floor. Then something changed, the temperature, or the air pressure, in the room. Things had shifted. I looked around and there was now a full bookcase behind me. Were They finally paying attention and giving me something to do? I started checking them out, picking them out at random and flipping through the pages. A lot of non-fiction, a lot of information and history contained within them, full sets of Encyclopaedias. I picked another from the stack and flipped through, came to a section on Argentina – there had been a question about that. I went over and began sifting through all the loose papers I’d thrown into the corner, down to the very bottom of the pile. The question was, What is the capital of Argentina? I turned back to the book.

“Buenos Aires, that’s the capital of Argentina!” My heart was thumping with excitement, I’d found one of the answers. A new slip of paper fell out of Box and onto the floor. I picked it up.

– Very excellent, can you also tell us the size of the city and its population?

I flipped through the pages some more. “Buenos Aires the city is 203 square kilometers, while Greater Buenos Aires is 3885 square kilometers. Their populations are 2.9 million and 13.5 million, respectively. The average annual temperature is 16 degrees Celsius.”

– This is good news; we have found a way to make progress. Now there is work to be done.

It was exciting at first, the prospect of having a purpose outside of myself, working and being validated towards some higher goal. It quickly became tiring though; the monotony had shifted from waiting to be asked questions that I didn’t know the answer to, to looking up the answers to questions in the library that had materialized itself there. What is the capital of X, what is the population of Y, who directed film Z? I’d find the answer in one of the books, tell them, and wait for the next test.

To what end though? I’d asked out loud and only received more inane trivia-style questions to look up. Was this leading somewhere? Were things going to progress? What was I doing here just pithily looking up their answers; still in their control and how they wanted to play it.

“Box, what do you think of all of this?”

…

“I agree.”

…

“Sure, but it’s not as if I can exactly get out of here,” but I didn’t have to play their game either.

I struggle for a while, ignoring the slips but unsure of what I wanted to do instead. There had to be something other than sitting there watching the pile get bigger. Then it came to me. The papers continued to slip out of Box at a steady rate, and I continued to ignore them unless I needed the resources. I reached a point where I needed one last piece of paper – for now – to complete my task. I grabbed one of the notes from the top, scanning it out of curiosity before I used it.

– This has grown very concerning for us. We have tried to provide for you everything you need in a measured manner so that you did not become overwhelmed. You have since cut off communication with us, we have tried numerous methods to bring you back but none of them seem to be working and we are at a loss. What more can we do?

I thought about their request. I’d reach out to them again, once I was finished, and we could talk about adjustments and my purpose here. For now, I took the piece of paper and folded it in half to make a crease and then unfolded it; I folded the top and bottom edges of the paper by 1/3; folded the corners of the top and bottom flaps so that it went past the folded edge and folded the corners in; then I folded it in half again along the original crease. I was almost there. Next, I folded one corner inward, then the other at a steeper angle. I didn’t have anything to decorate it with, no markers or pencils, so the rest would have to be left to my imagination – but there was my last car. I set it down on the makeshift street I had created and stood up to admire my work.

A whole paper city crafted from the various notes and memos I had been sent. From skyscrapers as tall as I could reach, to sprawling suburbs of winding streets and bungalows; the downtown core packed with cars in a real paper jam, to sparse vehicles parked in the driveways of the suburbs. I’d even tried my hand at a few paper bicycles, though they didn’t turn out as I’d hoped. Still, it’d been fun.

Another paper slipped out of Box and I picked it up.

– What have you been doing?

“I built a paper city.”

– Why?

“Why not? Seemed as good a way to spend my time as any other.”