Ok, you two feel free to swap rooms with me. Worms, slugs and bugs are doubleplus good.
Getting limbs and appendages cut off.
A neverending [del]story[/del] panic attack.
Several of my relatives.
Being crammed head downward with my arms pinned against my sides into a narrow shaft that’s slowing filling with water.
fire
Just solitary confinement will do it for me.
Politicians.
A film on repeat, of all the various mistakes of my past.
Loud, thumping music, probably rap. Volume varies greatly overtime, and I know where it’s coming from, but I can’t turn it off.
An endless shaft, where I would keep falling forever.
Snakes…even little harmless ones…
In my Room 101, there is loud rap music playing, of a kind that even rap fans would regard as rather repetitive and crass. With the bass well to the fore.
For company, there are only four people. The first is a very evangelical born-again christian who is concerned about my atheism, and who wants to share with me why he reckons everything he believes can be proved to be true (ignoring that this undermines the concept of ‘faith’). The second is someone who more or less lives her whole life according to astrology, and who helpfully ‘informs’ me that ‘…and science has proved that it works’. The third is a die-hard sports enthusiast with a terrific memory for statistics, who cannot be made to realise that I’m just not even remotely interested in sport. The fourth is a professional Brazilian lingerie model who tells me she used to be fond of walking around wearing very little. However, she converted to Islam yesterday and now chooses to wear the full Burkha, so that only her eyes are visible through a dark veil.
The only food is fish head stew and the only available drink is pure lemon juice.
There is a phone in the room, but I can only phone my bank. The authorities have informed me that there is one - and only one - way out of Room 101. They have promised to release me if I can call my bank and get them to admit that they have made an error on my statement. I am only allowed to call the bank at very busy times.
There is a TV in the room. It is on all the time. All it ever shows is a 30 minute video clip from a regional council meeting about a supermarket planning application, on an infinite loop. The sound is loud but is about three seconds out of sync with the picture, the aspect ratio is incorrect and the ‘vertical hold’ is unreliable.
Next door, someone is teaching himself to play The Final Countdown on the accordion, but has no musical talent or aptitude whatsoever.
Rush Limbaugh in the nude.
ianzin, that was fantastic.
The bullies I remember from elementary and junior high school.
Moldy and fungal honeycombed walls with slimy serpentine things crawling in and out of them. The floor would be dirt, with massive ant and termite hills dotting it at random intervals. There would also be a stagnant, mildewy lake where surinam toads are breeding.
Spiders, definitely. And my coworker that I share an office with: she has a southern accent a mile thick, can’t use an ending G to save her life, and tells everybody your business. She also cannot butt out of a conversation. Her voice alone grates on my last nerve.
I’m really kind of wondering if some folks here get what “Room 101” is about. It’s the room where you would betray the one you love the most, ask the tormentors to put her in your place, just so you can get away from it. And supposedly, you’d have no choice but to do so, since the horror of Room 101 is so deep and instinctive that you’d reflexively thrust your child or spouse into it just so you don’t have to.
Ooh, wait! This!