text: The days grew short this time, like usual. A harsh, cold wind sleekly gliding down the cold concrete stairwell and into J's home. His first awareness was of freezing chill, then of dark sky's beyond his barred window. God it was cold, like a bucket of water in Winter, making him shiver in every stinging breath. "Fuck-" He said through chattering teeth, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Goodmorning." He spoke to himself, internally noting the irony. It was neither good, nor morning, it was around 5PM, the grey sun already on the horizon, kissing the sky dark with cloud and rain. Leaning his bare chest against the wall beneath the window, he could just about see the ground below, barren and lifeless for what seemed to be miles. Nothing's changed. With a euphoric stretch, J drudged out of the dark room and into the hall. A voice spoke from the opposite room. "Morning, Big J." It was a friend. Turning to look, J saw his face between the bars on his door. A strong jaw complimented by grey stubble and grassy eyes softened by a pair of round glasses, slightly crooked on his button-like nose. Despite having white hair, he was not evidently any older than J, maybe Twentyish, possibly Thirty. His name was Simon, though a family name eluded both of them. "Morning, Simon." The routine was simple, wake up, greet Simon, eat food, die of boredom, go to sleep. That's what made it so brain numbingly tedious. Simon was the only other person J had talked to in what seemed like years, and an exit always seemed so close. That door at the other end of the hallway leading to the stairs down, but forever remaining locked. J experienced what he referred to as a "Blue Demon", wherein he would be subject to cry-laughter and mania, screaming and bellowing and maddening throes. At once he fell to his knees, eyes beset by hot tears. He screamed like an unoiled gate until his voice grew hoarse. He punched the hard ground until his fists painted the floor, and he called to the sky as if to challenge all who listened. He cried out in pain and anguish, not quite knowing why. Eventually, the Blue Demon left him, and he clutched his sore hands to his naked chest in regret. "Fuck." Was all he knew to say. Following his episode, J entered to totally empty Kitchen, a room with high windows and open spaces, decorated by cracks in the concrete and stains of blood from previous Blue Demons. Easily dozens of them lined the wals and floors, along the counter where he prepared the food, on the tables where he ate it, in the sinks where he left his dishes, on the floors where he laid and cried. Just a single clay cup of cold water and a stick of lentils, which he consumed within the minute and returned to his room, just as barren as the kitchen, with just as much blood. "Remember anything yet?" Simon asked across the hall. "Still nothing, you?" "Fuck-all, it's like a blackbox in here." "Mmm." J leaned against the wall, the light from the setting sun just vanishing from his room. "How long has it been now?" J asked. "Since what?" "Since the Ice Box." Simon understood at once, and let out a cheek-flapping breath. "Like, four months? I dunno, man, it gets real foggy after a while." "Tell me about it, I'm half tempted to join him." Simon fell quiet for a moment, and J felt that those words were best for himself alone. "I'm sorry-" He said, letting his eyes shift to a corner. "You can't leave me, J." "I know, I'm sorry." The two settled into an uncomfortable silence. Until J was fairly certain Simon had passed asleep. Once again rising, J returned to the kitchen, where he ventured to the very back of the room, to a windowless door. Pressing one hand against it, J felt a rush of white chill bleed from the gap as it opened. With a final heave, J pushed the door fully open, but stood away from the threshold. At the end of the cold, bright room, the say the emaciated form of Dás, sitting with hairs clung together by ice, and features made heavy with thick frost. His pale blue skin had sunk to his bones, and his limp figure had slumped back against the wall. For whatever reason, J kept thinking about him, about the young boy laying in the Ice Box. The last he had seen him move was the aforementioned four months prior, when Dás had occupied the third room on the hall. Now that room stood remote, and the Ice Box stood hauntingly close. An escape, but an end. J wondered how alone they truly were in this building, if he and Simon were the last ones, or if this tower on the edge of nowhere housed more just like him, willing to fight for a while, not remembering why, until eventually... ...they would step into the Ice.