Please [Don't] Believe Me

The Room

Mark opened his eyes to a white light, temporarily blinding him as he woke.

That's new... He thought to himself.

Allowing his eyes to adjust, Mark got a better view of the room. The walls were white with no windows and a single door, with one small window barred off so nothing could get through. There was a small slot at the bottom of the door, allowing objects to slide through. There was a toilet in the corner, along with a sink, and a small mirror just above it. There was a shower too, a simple drain, curtain, and faucet. No fancy gadgets.

Definitely not Mark's bedroom.

Standing quickly, he saw he was wearing a white tshirt and white sweatpants. Not what he fell asleep with either.

"Hello?!" Mark called out, looking around in confusion. He walked to the door and tried to open it, only to find the door locked. Of course. Mark pressed his face against the metal bars, blocking a six inch opening in the door to try and see if anyone else was around.

Where was he? A mental asylum? A hospital? Where could he be? And why is he there in the first place?

Mark remembered recording several videos, preparing for an upcoming trip before showering and falling asleep on his bed.

Is it possible everything he had been through was a dream...? His YouTube channel? All the people he had met, all the friends he had made?

Looking in the mirror, Mark saw a section of his hair was dyed red, just like he remembered. Surely it wasn't a dream then? Why else would he have dyed his hair red?

Walking back to the door, Mark twisted the knob to try and force it open.

"God damnit, open!!" Mark yelled in frustration, "Where the fuck am I?!"

Raking his hands through his hair, Mark paced the floor by the bed in the far left corner.

Why am I here? Where IS here? Why am I locked in? Is there anyone else in here?

Groaning, Mark sat at the edge of the bed to gather his thoughts. Then he heard a quiet scratching noise, like metal rubbing against metal.

Turning his attention to the door, he saw metal tray with food and a bottle of water on it.

"Hey!!" Mark yelled as loud as he could, hoping to get whoever's attention it was that had slid the tray under the door.

Sprinting to the door, Mark pressed his cheek to the bars only to see the hallway the same way it was before. Empty.

Taking a step back, he looked down at the tray of food by the door. Mark picked up the plate and sat down on the bed, his stomach growling.

Rice, corn, a small roll of bread, grilled chicken, and a water bottle. Sighing, Mark picked up the plastic fork and stabbed a piece of chicken, shoving it into his mouth.

Dry and a bit over cooked, but not the worst thing he'd ever tasted. Besides; Mark was starving.

After finishing his meal, Mark slid the tray into the hall. Sighing, he paced the floor again, asking himself the same questions he had asked before. And yet, he was still no closer to getting any answers.

After a few hours, Mark was more bored than anything. He had resulted to counting the tiny square tiles on the floor. He had gotten to 1,394 before losing count.

Groaning in frustration, he threw the fork he had at the wall.

"Where am I?"  Mark asked himself aloud.

That's when he heard a groan from another room.