Fantasy

He surveys the scene before him. He seems to be in an enclosed room, devoid of any furnishings; even the walls are drab gray. The room is huge, roughly circular in shape, though the walls run straight and meet each other at large angles. There is no apparent light source but there is light in the room, enabling him to see. It seems slightly pale, as though the light is filtered through some badly scratched glass, bringing no cheer with it.

There are a number of doors in the walls, all shut now, the shape of the room making them hard to count exactly how many they are. A host of creatures had tried to come through some of these doors, previously opened, and he has no idea how long he fought before finally driving all of them out and closing the doors once again after them. The room looks like a battlefield now, with spots of red scattered amidst the thick dust on the floor, and scuffles of footprints everywhere, the air slightly cloying--sweet perhaps from the blood. The man pants slightly, adding drops of sweat to the dirt on the floor.

Crossing the room in huge steps, he hurries to lock the doors with a set of keys he has with him, all save one. He pauses at the last one and examines it. The doors are slightly translucent, all fashioned in such a way that they can only be be opened from within. Curiosity had led him to open some of the doors previously, leading to the unexpected struggles that ended just minutes ago. He can still see some of the creatures milling outside the room through the translucent material of the doors. After a moment, he decides that he need not lock this particular door: nothing could come through this door anyway, he reflects wryly.

He returns to the center of the room, as far away from the doors as he could tell, trying to catch his breath. Soon, he knows all too well, boredom will lead him to open one of the doors again. Such is the curse of this stone prison.