The room is small, probably as big as a large cubical. There are no lights, as there are no need for them. The room is illuminated enough without them. The walls are a bright eggshell white-- almost enough to blind a man. In fact, the only things in the room that are not this brilliant white are the only furniture in the room: a midnight black office desk and chair. There is nothing special about either of them, they are both four-legged and boring. Although, it is nice to have something in that doesn't make my eyes burn. On the office desk, there is a blank sheet of paper, which is the same color as the walls, ceiling, and floor. The other side other the paper, however, is not blank. They had told me before I entered the room that it isn't blank, that it has a special date on the other side: my death date. That flip-side of it contains the exact year, month, day, and time of the day that my life will come to an end. It is an intriguing little thing. It is torturing to look at, yet whenever I look away, I am pulled back as if I am possessed. It is quite peculiar, how such a small, seemingly harmless object can have such power over me, how it can drive me this insane.
   They never told me why I am here. I don't know if this is a scientific experiment, or if they're just messing with my mind. I don't know if they just know when I will fall, or if they do this to everybody. All I know is that I am in a dead silent white room, with a piece of paper that has my death-date on it.
   I hate it.
   Why me? I can't handle this kind of pressure! On one hand, I could flip it. I could just suck it up and get it over with. What's the big deal, right? It's just a lousy date. Besides, it would be kind of nice to know when my life would come to a sudden end-- or just peacefully wither away. This way, I would be prepared. So many people die sad because they never saw it coming, but if I flip the paper, I won't be among those people. I will know one more thing, and I like to know things. I'll do it, yes indeed, I'll flip the harrowing paper, for who could pass up an opportunity like this?
   Having decided, I take in one deep breath, hold it for a moment or two, and let it out, slowly and quietly. I tell myself that I am ready, that the time has come. This is it, I'm going to do it!
   Mentally prepared, I uncross my arms from my chest, where they had been stationed during this time, and begin to lean out of the depressing chair, and towards the depressing desk with the irritating paper lying ever-so-gracefully upon it. As I lean, my hand begin to creep more and more towards its destination, but it is hesitant, as is the rest of me. I am getting closer, and it feels as if everything in the world is racing past me at one hundred miles per hour, while I can't seem to reach the paper within the next five years. I'm doing it, I tell myself. I'm really going to look. I am continuing to lean, while the world races faster and faster and I am getting closer and closer until everything comes to a screeching halt. The world stands still, as do I. My hand, hovering over the lifeless paper, is wait for its next command. Wait, I think to myself. Is this really what you want? Of course, I was waiting for it to finally chime into the decision-making: the side of me that second guesses everything. I have to at least listen to it, even if it does mean talking to myself and feeding my insanity even more.
   I am thinking quite hard now, and begin to think that I have a point. Do I really want to know when I'm going to die? In a way, it seems kind if boring. It's like someone walking up to you alas a young child, and telling you how the entire rest of your future is going to go, and what is going to happen. Where's the adventure in that? Oh, that's right: ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE. That day my be a grim surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. I would much rather have death come knocking on my door as an unexpected guest, than as a dreaded in-law who you knew had been coming all year and caused you to hate this day ever since you knew about it. I don't want to hate days, I want to live and embrace each day as if I were  to die tomorrow, because for all I know I will die tomorrow. I love the sound of that! Who wants to live their life misery over a fact that they regret knowing? I don't want to live my life in regret, I just want to live it. Freely, and joyously. Besides, death is far too blue to even think about, and my favorite color is orange.
   I have made my final decision, and peacefully sit back into my chair, even slouching a little bit. My arms cross once more. I no longer look at the paper and am eaten alive, but I am actually able to look away without its grip tightly pulling me back. I am comfortable, for the first time in the white hell, and I sleep. I figure that there is nothing better to do, so why not? I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, hold it for a moment or two, and let it out, slowly and quietly. I tell myself that I am not ready, and that I never will be. When they come to retrieve me, my only request if for them to simply burn the wretched paper. I want nothing to do with it anymore.