text: I woke up and I found myself submerged in a bathtub, with no idea of where I am or how I have come to be there. The bathtub is cold and my own reflection stares back at me from the water's surface. I look around the room, my gaze darting between the unfamiliar black and white tiles and the bright neon light vibrating on the ceiling. I desperately search for something that is familiar. Nothing. The only thing I can recognize is my body. My skin is pale and my frame is skinny, sunken in against the sides of the tub. Everywhere else, the strange tiles and stark white fixtures, illuminated by the ghostly vibrating white light, tells me I am far from home. I slowly emerge from the water, my body is shivering as the chilly air cascaded over my skin. I am dripping wet. I feel a sudden pang of panic in my chest, as I realize I have no recollection of the events that have transpired the night before. Where am I? What have I done? I step out of the tub, wrap myself in a towel, and step onto the cold tile floor. I begin to search through my clothes, looking for something that tells me who I am and where I am from. But I found nothing. Not even a trace of past memories or moments. Finally, I give up, resigned to the fact that I am completely alone in this unknown place. I dress quickly and quietly so as not to arouse suspicion, and then I open the door, stepping into a room outside the bathroom. I am ready to find out what is next. I look around the room and realise it does not have windows or doors. I ponder how this room was furnished. It seems impossible for the furniture to have been brought into this space. I do not know what is more unsettling: the question of how the room was built or the fact that there is no way out. The room on the other hand is well-equipped with a desk and chair, a small bookshelf, and a few paintings hung on the walls. The shelves in the cupboard are stocked with food that will last for a long time: various kinds of cured or smoked meat, salami, and canned goods. Whoever built this room, wants me to stay here for a very long time. The walls are a deep navy blue, and the floor is covered in plush white carpeting that makes me feel as if I am walking on clouds. The only source of light is an old-fashioned chandelier hanging from the ceiling--it gives off a dim glow that illuminates just enough of the room to make out some of its features. The desk is cluttered with knickknacks, trinkets, writing utensils, and various items of clothing; the bookshelf contains several volumes on philosophy and history; while the paintings are strange yet captivating images of situations and people. I feel as if this room has been specifically designed for me; as though I have stumbled upon my own personal library or study. I step over to one of the paintings and study it intently. It depicts a woman in an ornate dress standing atop an ancient tree with her arms outstretched towards a starry night sky--it reminded me of something but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. The woman's expression is one of unbearable grief. Her countenance is filled with deep pain and sorrow. It sends shivers down my spine. One painting depicts a man in a dark coat with his face contorted in rage, wielding a long-bladed kitchen knife towards a man cowering on the street corner. Another painting shows a young boy, with tears flowing down his cheeks, standing alone in a schoolyard. The paintings are eerie; the subjects' eyes are following me as I walk around the room. I start to have a hard time catching my breath. But the oddest part of it all is that the paintings are emanating such a profound sadness. I can't put into words the sorrow I feel as I am standing in front of them. Somehow, I know exactly how the people in these paintings feel and the emotion overwhelms me. I crumple to the floor in tears. Then, a few minutes later, as stand up, I continue to explore further through these mysterious artefacts, I still try to piece together fragments from my past life--flashes of memories in the hope that it slowly returns like forgotten dreams. Suddenly, my gaze falls upon a corner of the room and I notice something that makes my heart skip a beat--a DVD player and a TV. I walk over to the television set, turning it on with a trembling hand. First, an old pop song begins playing and memories flood into my mind--memories of when I used to be happy and carefree when life seemed so simple. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize how far away those days are for me now. Suddenly, images start appearing on the screen--images from my past life that have somehow been recorded onto this device without me knowing it. Watching these recordings feels like reliving moments from another lifetime; moments of joy, sorrows forgotten by time... It is both beautiful and heartbreaking at once. As the memories play out before me, one thought keeps ringing through my head: why has this happened? Why do these memories have to be hidden away? What secrets are they protecting me from? Finally, it comes back to me. I remember the woman in the painting. It's my wife, with her charming smile, lovely face, and captivating figure. Staring back at me from the canvases are the people I had treated terribly during my lifetime. One of them, a man, I threatened with a blade and coerced into giving me all his money, or else I would murder him. The boy was one of my schoolmate and I bullied him regularly until he committed suicide. I never confessed that it was my doing. I was a bad man. A monster. The record reveals a pattern of cruel behaviour, like the way I yelled at her in public or the way I once pushed her into a wall. Other times, I clenched my fists and unleashed them upon her, leaving deep bruise marks on her delicate skin. She whimpered in fear and pain, tears streaming down her face. On another record, the police officer opened a file and spread the contents in the front of me. There, on the desk, lay tangible evidence of my temper and cruelty - I had left bruises on her arms, shouted her down, and broken her prized possessions. I can not believe this is me. I can not believe I was capable of such things. Tears stream down my face as the truth slowly sink in -- I was a monster, and no amount of excuses or rationalizations can ever change that. At this moment, a single thought fills my mind--I have to make amends for what I had done, for all the pain and hurt I have caused her. It will not be easy but it will be necessary if I want to move forward in life with any semblance of peace and happiness. With this newfound resolve, I switch off the television set, wipe away my tears and start walking back into the bathroom to wash my face with a new sense of purpose in my heart. But then, the television set flickers back to life. I realize there is still something but I am not sure I want to see it. In the video, I can be seen smiling at my partner as I pull out a map and point to an area just outside of town. My voice is full of excitement as I explain that the stars will be shining extra bright tonight, and I suggest we take a drive out to a hidden desert spot for a romantic night beneath the stars. At that moment, the sudden realisation comes to me: I did not want to spend the night with her but my real plan was to end her life there. I had never been able to love anyone, not even her, and I was not willing to risk financial loss if we were to part ways. I watch in horror as the scene unfolds before me--the anger, the hatred in my eyes. It is like looking into a mirror, only instead of seeing myself, I see a monster. We were arguing in the car, voices rising and tempers flaring. I didn't see the truck coming until its headlights blinded me - and then I felt the vehicle lurch as we smashed into each other. Now, at this moment, back in the room, something strange is happening. A wall starts to ripple and fade away, revealing a polished white door. I feel my heart pounding as I slowly reach for the handle and opened it to my fate. Ahead of me, a hospital corridor stretches out in front of me. I can see a ward and the doctors inside, rushing around though none of them notices me standing at the door. My physical body is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to life support machines. I can see my wife beside my bed, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She is holding my hand tightly, tears are streaming down her face while she is begging me not to go. Her eyes are red and puffy, their whites bloodshot, her cheeks are flushed and it is obvious she has been crying for a while. My chest tightened and I could feel my throat constricting. I wanted to take her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay, but my ghostly body just went through her body. She has some mild injuries like bruises and cuts but not so serious. How can she still love such a monster like me after all of this? She does not even know what I wanted to do to her! Do I deserve to live? Then suddenly, something is going awry. I feel an odd electrical current surge through my body. The medical personnel desperately attempts to resuscitate me but to no avail. 'Keep trying!' - one of the doctors shouts. The choice before me weighs heavily on my mind: do I deserve to live? I keep asking. The only door that leads back to life is still open. I do not have much time to hesitate. I need to make the decision that will alter everything. At this very moment, I am standing in front of the door right now. I know what I am going to do.