A White Room

I found myself in a white room

I didn't know how I got there

I didn't know who I was

The rooms features offered no clues as to what existed before or beyond its boundaries

The room and the space it enclosed comprised the entire universe. All outside worlds were incidental and speculative.

It was a sterile place beret of history, nothing that had ever happened in it or to it had left any mark.

It was a place outside of time, a white room where every moment was identical to every other. It was eternal, in that aspect it was perfect, in all others it was sacred. I recognized that before I recognized anything else, and I was enraptured by its beauty, and as I did so I became timeless, I was eternal. But there are things which break eternity. The space I occupied was warmer than other areas of the room, warmer than it had been before, and eternity softened and sagged where that heat spread. My breath filled the air and where it diffused eternity crumpled and perforated.

With the first beat of my heart a crack formed in eternity, and with every beat that crack widened and deepened.

An eternal moment had been sealed within that white room, and I had shared in that moment. But there was a history sealed within me, contents which bare the marks of change, things which are not as the were, which hold an impression of the forces that chiseled and molded them into their current form. Forces which existed outside of the white room, outside of eternity.

I looked down and saw that I am a vessel for sacs of entropy, and I was shaken out of that eternal moment.

I saw that the room was not as white as I thought it was. The floor where I stood was darkened with spots of dirt spreading from my feet, the air was growing clouded with my sweat and breath, and I realized in horror that I had touched the surface of the white room, pressed my hand against it. Its surface had met my surface, and my hand pressed an oil against the white walls, and it left an imprint, swirling curves and lines that traced an immense history, a genetic lineage spanning a millenia, culminating in just a few decades, now carved onto the surface of eternity.

It was the mark of entropy on a timeless surface. For just one more moment I perceived the white room, the eternal moment it had held, and I felt its beauty and its perfection, though I was no longer a part of it.

My heart beat once more. It shattered.