The man stared at the knife which lay innocently on the floor. In his mind he replayed the words that the men had said as they left the room.
‘Just in case, you get bored’
The implication was clear; they wanted him to commit suicide. Suicide. Even the word was chilling, he shuddered. Rising to his feet he crossed to the window, for some reason the glass had been replaced with plastic.
He glanced back at the knife. He knew there was no point in trying to cut his way out, before he even stuck one foot out of the window his body would be riddled with machine-gun bullets. Although they were staying hidden in their watchtowers, he knew they were there, waiting.
He shook his head, if he was going to die in this room he wasn’t going to go in a way that might ruin the paint job. He looked round appraisingly, nice paint job too.
‘Repaint it every time we have a new prisoner, new person, new paint.’ The man had said with a thin-lipped smile as he was led in.
He hadn’t answered the thin-lipped man’s comments on the dazzlingly white room, he wasn’t being rude, he just didn’t know how. Oh sure, he knew a few pleasantries, but he was sure that the man wouldn’t want to talk about the weather or if he knew the way to the library.
Boredom it all came down to that. That was why they had put him in a white room with nothing to do. He smiled again. Boredom was like a disease if you fell into its clutches it would never let go, you would always be searching for something to do and never be happy with what you had. Boredom had got to his wife and that was why she had left him for the lion tamer from New Jersey. Boredom had got to his daughter and that was why she could never stay with the same guy for more than a week. But boredom had never got to him.
There is a cure for boredom. Acceptance, if you learned to accept there was nothing to do, then you could become immune to boredom.
That was what he had learned to do.
And that was why the men with their white paint and machine guns and their knife couldn’t beat him.