Larry felt a sharp pain upon the flesh of his forearm. He looked down. Nothing. Not nothing as in nothing wrong with his arm, but nothing as in no arm. “Okay, where was the last place you had it?” he thought. The glint of cold, crafted metal flashed through his thoughts. He looked around the room still wondering about his arm. “Why is there no color in this place?” The room was blank and white. Just white. He thought scientifically that would mean he was in the presence of everything, but artistically he was in the the presence of nothing. “Where is all the color? Why are there no trees? Why are there no windows in this room? Where is my arm?” he thought once more. Suddenly Larry was startled by a scream- but he hadn’t heard it with his ears. He had felt it. “Someone is in pain,” Larry thought. “Where is all the color? Where are the trees? Who is screaming? Where did I leave my arm?” These thoughts thundered through Larry’s skull. Louder, louder, louder they roared seising with the vision of eyes. Larry broke into a cold sweat. These were not calm eyes. These eyes weren’t experiencing hardship or discomfort, no these eyes exhibited true terror. A kind of terror that could only come from sheer helplessness. “Who’s eyes are these… why is this in my head,” Larry questioned. Then that glint of crafted metal turned into fine razor-fine detail. He could remember every inch of the knife. But he remembered it in his left hand- when Larry knew himself to be right handed, after all it was his own hand, his own arm. “Where did I leave my arm? What is this on the knife? ...warm… viscous… Where has all the color gone? Why are there no windows? The scream, the scream is horrible, those eyes, WHERE IS MY ARM?!” Larry roared. And then nothing. Silence. His sweating subsided and the panic washed from Larry as he looked closer at the wall. The blank wall. The blank, white wall. The blank, white, padded wall.