There it was, this big – no HUGE – red button. It was just sitting there, taunting me to push it. Sitting all alone in a room that featured a humongous television screen that switched images every two seconds. An uncomfortable steel chair was the only other object in the room, I sat in it for about a half hour and now I was pacing the room.
I wasn’t trapped, I was free to leave at any time. It’s been about two hours since I first got in here and there was no evidence of hidden cameras spying on me, which – to me – meant this button wasn’t a giant whoopie cushion.
A few times I thought about leaving, making my way over to the door only to hear a tiny voice in my head say, “you can’t exit without knowing what it does, can you?”
My brain has a way of making me do things.
The button was only impressive in size, sporting a radius of about 2 and half feet, and its paint was candy-shell red with a shined overcoat that reflected the projected images and provided a little more light to some darker corners of the room.
I couldn’t not look at it.
Even as I walked to the door I did so backwards with my right arm extended behind me feeling for the wall. There were points during those two hours I would force myself to look away, just to make sure I was still sane, but it only lasted for 14-seconds at it’s longest.
What was all of this?
I’m sure you’re curious about the pictures.
One time I pressed my hand against the button and I became dizzy, almost vertigo-like, to the point where I had to take a moment and sit in the chair. Such an uncomfortable chair. Why would they even make such an uncomfortable chair?
Around the four hour mark I started to laugh and the image on the screen changed to a picture of Larry David.
Larry David of all people!
It didn’t hit me right away as to why his picture suddenly popped up there. I found it rather strange that this particular image sat there for about 10-seconds before being lost in the shuffle of images that flashed on the screen.
I continued to wait, and wait, and wait. I was like a scared child on a diving board waiting to work up enough courage to jump. Every few seconds I would inch closer to the button and butterflies would build up in my stomach, a sense that told me pushing it would be a regretful decision.
It was now 10-hours since I had first arrived and I started to doze off. Each time I had my eyes closed for longer than 15-seconds an alarm would go off.
Was this some kind of test?
I started to get angry, real angry. I took the chair and threw it against the wall in a fit of protest and that’s when a picture of multiple people beating up one individual flashed up on the screen. This was a truly disgusting act and one that I couldn’t stomach. The rage fired up in me as it sat there for another 9-seconds before joining the other images.
Why was this screen mocking me?
I couldn’t comprehend what the mission of this was. I was free to leave, but I couldn’t do it. I needed to know what this button did.
I finally worked up the courage and pushed down on it as hard as I could. A rush of adrenaline overcame my body and I felt invincible, like nothing in the world could stop me. I let out a scream in order to release some of the energy that just entered my bloodstream and then I stopped cold.
Without warning the television switched over to a video of what appeared to be a gathering of people. Although I never saw the speakers they were now projecting the sound of laughter. It was happy laughter, it was laughter that was mocking me.
How was I being mocked?
I slammed on the red button again, and again, and again, but still nothing.
Each time I hit the button I did so with more and more force and eventually built up to the point where I was hitting it with both fists on alternating beats.
I was driving myself mad. I was fully enraged by this experiment and the fool it had made of me. Finally I dove onto the button to show that I surrendered. I gave up to it’s awful power and submitted myself for whatever fate it had laid out to me and that’s when everything stopped completely. The lights came shooting on, the television screen had gone blank except for the black-and-white static that everyone called “snowy.”
I was even more confused now and still had no answers to why all this this had occurred.
I started to make my way to the door and as I reached for the knob I stopped dead in my tracks and that’s when I figured it all out. Sometimes things just don’t make sense.