According to someone's comment I heard outside of the box, a tiny bottle containing deadly poison is located in this box. Although the bottle is completely sealed, a hammer is positioned in the vicinity of the bottle. And they said the hammer would fall down at a certain time.
When is "the certain time"? I don't know. In this very moment? Or distant future? Possibly, it already has come (I don't want to think about it). No one can affect the hammer. As an independent event, it will fall down with probability 50%. The probability is exactly 50%. Possibly, the bottle may be broken, or may not. About myself, dead, or, alive.
It is impossible for me to avoid having a furious indignation. My life, the most important issue for me, is completely away from me, and is solely dependent on the simple figure, FIFTY PERCENT! Too much terrible.
Visual perception. The box is completely shielded from any light. It's for avoiding me from finding and destroying the bottle and apparatus. Complete darkness. I am in the total darkness. Thus, now I can’t see even the outline of myself. Possibly it sounds strange, the darkness makes me have a doubt about the existence of my body itself.
Acoustic perception. Maybe, from the reason I mentioned above, a perfect sound insulation is used. I can’t hear even the voice of my own. I don't know the mechanism. In the first place, as I can’t see anything, how can I investigate it? So, this is only a speculation, possibly, my drum membranes were damaged before enclosure in this box, or, some special material is used for the wall of the box.
As if further confirmation are needed, a huge fatigue weighing heavily upon me is another shackle for me. It seems that they gave me some kind of muscle relaxant to avoid me from struggling. As I can’t change from the same posture, my tactile perception is almost paralyzed.
No light. No sound. Smell and taste are unreliable. Tactile perception is in malfunction. I am like a puppet. All the five senses are out of control of mine. Too much cruel. Perfect shackles. I wish if they had given a sleeping medicine. I feel I am in agony without any external injury. My life, my existence itself, is completely ignored. Such a humiliation keeps my sanity. Only such a humiliation can.
The right to control the life and death of myself is completely deprived. I hate such situation. The core determinant of the continuity of my life is completely dependent upon, solely upon, a pure probability. Completely away from anyone's will. I hate it, again, I hate it!
I am lonely. Am I feeling empty and flat? Difficult to avoid sobbing? No. My loneliness is much deeper. I am in a sea of void. I am alone. Completely alone. As an orphan, I was thrown into this endless darkness. I am quivering in the absolute zero.
There is no perspective in this box. Only the darkness is here. I can’t feel the bottle and the hammer. I can’t feel the wall, the bottom, and the ceiling neither. They should be there. But all the five senses of mine are deprived. I feel like there is nothing. While those things have some meanings.
Speaking honestly, I am not so sure I am in a box. I am sure that what I am exists. I am thinking. I am fantasizing. It is the evidence showing the uniqueness of mine, which is called the ego or the consciousness or the mind, is solid. But, is the uniqueness is truly enclosed in the box? Is it possible that it is floating in another space? I can’t eliminate such doubts.
In addition to that, I am not so sure that I am truly alive. I don't have any way to confirm such a simple thing. Possibly, the 50% probability has already passed beyond me. Maybe I am already dead. I am still alive, maybe. Injected with muscle relaxant, shallow breathes, weak heartbeats. Or, cessation of all of them, simply leaving meat bolus.
I am deprived of any capability of controlling my own body. Who can say that my mind resides in the body continuing vital activities? The five senses have been poisoned with the total darkness. They can’t function as sensory organs. I don't have any chance to know the truth. Possibly, any supposition is fabricated by myself. The situation surrounding me and the uniqueness of myself are components of programmed role-play, possibly.
I wish someone could find me. I wish someone could open the box and observe how I am, and determine what I am. There is not enough power inside me to do so. All I can do is to continue to quiver in the loneliness.
At the same time, longing produces shadow. If the box is opened, I will be found and observed. As a result, what I am will be determined. To tell the truth, I can’t look away from the fact I am anxious about being determined.
Although I am unable to determine whether I am alive or dead by myself, I am afraid of the death. I am afraid that I am determined as a dead. I can’t accept. Still I can’t feel, I can’t imagine the death as a specific phenomenon. Probably, that is why I am afraid of death.
No, it should not be restricted to me. King of virtue. Deadly murderer. Regular folks. All the same. Maybe, the elder people or patients of bad disease could have some imagination sufficiently close to the true death. But, even so, it is impossible to know the specific experience of death.
In the end, death is the final destination with overwhelming significance. The time and the consciousness have an absolute irreversibility. Death also has the absoluteness which can’t be changed. Even if it is a ritual pass point or an outstanding impressive event.
Myself, the mind of mine here is, will be vanished at the moment at which how I am is determined. If they deprive the lukewarm water, in which I can’t feel the temperature, it is impossible for me to avoid exposing myself to the air.
The current existence of myself is like a tiny, tiny illusion standing on an endless point. Not larger than that. Not smaller than that. Not longer than that. Not shorter than that. No expansion. No shrinkage. Standing upon a unique single point. It is mathematically correct. I am something like a ghost staying upon such a point, having confusion about identity of myself.
The point exists at every position on a plane of coordinates, at the same time, not existing at a certain position. If a certain event occurs, on that moment, it will converge me to a single point among all the space-times, in which the event has occurred, as if having me step off a bus. Without any concern. Even if the point and I have been a one. The illusion, which has stayed in such a point, has possibilities of being real and being vanished like a mist, to an equal degree.
Now, I am existing in every time-space, I have every nature. At the same time, I am suffering from the loneliness that I am away from every nature. I wish someone can find me. At the same time, I am so anxious that where I will be, and that how I will be at that moment.