Essay --

Imagine yourself strapped upright in a chair, so tightly that you can move nothing, not even your head. A sort of pad grips your head from behind, forcing you to look straight in front of you. This place is bigger than most of the cells you had been in. But you hardly notice your surroundings. All you notice is that there are two small tables straight in front of you, each covered with green baize. One is only a meter or two from you; the other is further away, near the door. For a moment you're alone; then the door opens and I come in. You asked me once what's in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that's in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world. The door opens again. A guard comes in, carrying something made of wire, a box or basket of some kind. He sets it down on the further table. Because of the position in which I'm standing, you can't see what the thing is. The worst thing in the world varies from individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths. There are cases where it's some quite trivial thing, not even fatal. You move a little to one side, so that you have a better view of the thing on the table. It's an oblong wire cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the front of it is something that looked like a fencing mask, with the concave side outwards. Although it is three or four meters away from you, you could see that the cage is divided lengthways into two compartments, and that there's some kind of creature in each. They're scorpions. In your case, the worst thing in the world happens to be deathstalker scorpions. A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of you're not certain what, ha... ...ck panic takes hold of you. You're blind, helpless, mindless. [As didactically as ever:] It was a common punishment in ancient Persia. The mask is closing on your face. The wire brushes your cheek. And then -- no, it's not relief, only hope, a tiny fragment of hope. You're falling backwards, into enormous depths, away from the scorpions. You're still strapped in the chair, but you'd fallen through the floor, through the walls of the building, through the earth, through the oceans, through the atmosphere, into outer space, into the gulfs between the stars -- always away, away, away from the scorpions. You're light-years distant, but I'm still standing at your side. There's still the cold touch of wire against your cheek. But through the darkness that envelopes you, you hear another metallic click, and know that the cage door had clicked shut and not open. Wake up now.