I am forgotten, down here. There’s only this square room; white tiles and a black band high on the wall. All because I would not bow. I can’t feel any entity from here to infinity. Then who am I talking to?

We

I feel hatred and fear pulsing from the walls. Yet it means that I am not alone! Then I realize this place is an echo chamber for my emotions; there really is no one here. Talking to just

Me

I close my eyes to rest. I always see a terrible vision. Something glares at me with pure, perfect malice. It screams how worthless I am, its voice not in my head. Then I notice its ax, and the infant lying on a stump. Every time it lifts the ax, the wait is unbearable. Every time, the ax crashes down on the stump.

He

I have thoughts (but not my own) where I like that horror. Something is planting them. I’m sure that my sane parts will soon be here just enough to be utterly horrified, in exact proportion for perfect torture.

Nothing

A pitch black door awaits across from me. I dare not go through it. Not yet.