Endless Wishing

The White Room

"A soul is not born in Heaven.
It simply awakens there, carrying a story it has already forgotten."
— The First Scripture of Silverberg Academy

I wake to silence.

Not the kind that follows the end of a conversation.

Not the quiet of midnight.

A silence so complete that it feels older than time itself, as if sound has never existed.

My eyes remain fixed on the white ceiling above me.

I don't know how long I lie there.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Time has no shape here.

There is only me... and the unsettling certainty that I have awakened somewhere I have never been.

Or perhaps somewhere I have always been.

I blink.

The ceiling is perfectly smooth, untouched by cracks or stains. Light spills across it from nowhere and everywhere at once. There is no window above me, yet the room is bright, bathed in a soft glow that casts no shadows.

I slowly push myself upright.

The bed beneath me is surprisingly warm.

The blanket slides into my lap, white as fresh snow.

Everything is white.

The walls.

The floor.

The furniture.

Even the curtains hanging beside a single glass window sway gently despite the absence of wind.

I search my mind.

Where am I?

Nothing.

Who brought me here?

Nothing.

What is my name?

...

Nothing.

The realization strikes harder than I expect.

I don't remember.

Not a single thing.

No family.

No home.

No childhood.

Not even a face.

It's as though someone has taken every memory I have ever owned and carefully erased it, leaving only an empty room inside my mind.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Think.

Please...

Think.

A birthday.

A voice.

A laugh.

Anything.

All I find is silence.

When I open my eyes again, the room hasn't changed.

Neither has the emptiness inside me.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand.

The floor should feel cold.

Instead, it feels...