Wide Knowledge Of The Late, Madness
The first thing that Arthur realised was that he realised nothing. His brain had seemingly failed on him and he was more than confused - not that he minded though - in reality, he had no idea what was going on.
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know how he got there.
He didn't know why the walls surrounding him were so white either. They were completely white - completely, except for the odd specks of crimson that tarnished their beauty. They were fascinating for some reason. They were awfully soft, too. It was almost like they weren't walls at all!
Arthur was torn. He found himself smiling, grinning, yet he had no idea why. What was there to smile about?
What wasn't there to smile about?
He really didn't know, nor did he care. Did he even realise?
He thoughts were contradicting themselves and he couldn't gain control of them. The were random and disconnected; the swirled around in his mind and spun out of line.
Then he noticed.
The door.
The door.
It matched the walls perfectly! It was white and pure. Only, the door was different. Very different.
It was not stained with flecks of impurity. It was spotlessly clean, free from the ruby-red marks that coated the walls around him.
The door seemed to have some kind of power that pulled Arthur towards it. It called out to him, reached for him, and he reached to it.
He crawled towards it before standing on his bruised knees to examine it.
It was made out of wood. Fine, polished wood, and glass.
Stained glass, marked glass!
Arthur glared at the numbers tainting the glass - '01', they read - the numbers easily took over the majority of the glass pane and Arthur hated it.
He hated it so much, he hated it with a burning, raging passion.
Though he had no idea why.