Seven thousand one hundred and twelve...
Seven thousand one hundred and thirteen...
Darkness, deathly still.
Bob floated in the darkness, silently counting in his mind.
To say he was floating wasn't quite accurate. He had lost all his senses. He had no idea where he was or what condition his body was in. Besides a brain that was still functioning normally, he had nothing else to rely on.
Since I can't feel anything, it's no different from floating in a pitch-black void, Bob thought, as a childhood memory of a shipwreck, where he had almost drowned, flashed through his mind.
The icy black seawater stung his skin. The sense of suffocation crushed his lungs. Beneath his legs treading water, the shadow of some huge and deadly silent creature seemed to pass.
Fear of the deep sea indeed used to make Bob restless, but compared to sensory deprivation, it paled significantly.
Wait, what am I thinking?
