When he opened his eyes, he was sprawled on his back in a white room, a bare white ceiling staring back at him. He had no idea why he was here or how he had gotten here.
He had never even been here before.
At least, that was what he could remember. He had a strange feeling that this place was not entirely unknown to him, but he had no memories to show for it. For a person in an odd room he had never visited before, he felt strangely calm. As if time had stopped and there was nothing and no one except him, existing in this very moment.
He sat up. The room was a dull white from ceiling to floor, completely devoid of any furnishings, entrances or exits. The color was not the pristine white of an angel's wing or the elegant white of a pearl — rather, the color reminded him of a dying person. Not necessarily when the heart ceases to circulate blood, but when it ceases to beat for the people one loved. The mind rotting away long before the body.
He was calm on the surface, but deep inside, a dread slowly seeped into a small part of his mind and spread like blood spreading through water. He was scared—scared because he knew that he was the person that was dying.
Pushing down his fear, he looked around. There was a window across from him. He stood up, slowly walked towards the window, and dropped himself down on the floor right in front of it. He watched the slightly translucent white curtains sway as a gentle breeze blew in from the outside. When the curtains went still, the thin fabric revealed the outline of bars of the window.
As far as he could see, there was nothing but more white nothingness outside the window. He knew that he should have been terrified, frantically searching for a way out of this place, but he didn't want to do any of that. As if something from deep within himself, a child, told him to stay here.
So he stayed there. Sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, eyes glued to the window. The white nothingness seemed to resemble his own future— vague and unpredictable. Maybe if he looked hard enough, he would find something in the distance.
Or maybe there wasn't a future for him.
Maybe it wasn't all too bad; he enjoyed the tranquil atmosphere in the room although it felt terribly empty. He felt so alone; a lone cliff overlooking a calm sea.
The silence of the room was broken by the soft rustle of paper-thin wings.
A small butterfly flew in through the window. Eyes tracking the creature, he held his finger out and the butterfly obediently perched on it, fluttering its plain, faded yellow wings. It was the only thing that had any color in the room.
He didn't know why the butterfly was here or how it had found him, but he was glad that it did. Now he didn't feel so alone anymore.
Perhaps this was how people felt before passing away. There was no pain, he felt no remorse, only a misplaced sense of calm. Almost detached.
"Thank you," he told the butterfly. The butterfly only fluttered its delicate wings in response. He was grateful for its presence. At least he could now pass with a witness, no matter how small it was. Sure, none of his friends or family were here, but at least the butterfly was.
"It's time for me to go," he said to no one in particular.
"No, not yet," whispered the butterfly.
