Monotonous

A young man was sleeping in a bed. He had dark brown hair, looked about 20 years old, and pale skin.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded: RING! RING! RING! RING! RING! RING!

Victor slowly opened his eyelids and stared at his bedroom ceiling for about 10 seconds. The alarm was still ringing. His cell phone, the one responsible for the annoying noise, was on a table to the right of the bed.

He only had to tilt his arm slightly and turn off the alarm.

When he felt the noise had irritated him enough, he swiped up his phone screen, turning off the alarm.

Almost all emotion had died in Victor a long time ago. He hadn't had the best life, and now he was stuck repeating the same thing from the day before, as if he were being punished for something.

Victor got up, even though he had little desire to do so; honestly, he didn't even know why he was doing it. It would be much better and more comfortable to stay lying in his bed.

Victor prepares his breakfast: instant black coffee and bread and butter.

—The same old food— Victor said in a bitter, but not hoarse, voice.

His room was really small; there was barely enough room for his things, which were few. He only had a nightstand next to the bed, which he also used as a dining table, his own bed, and a cabinet with a small refrigerator and a coffeemaker on it.

And a separate bathroom.

His room was about 15 square meters; it was really small. Victor lived alone.

Victor's clothes were folded in a drawer of the nightstand. They were what he was going to wear today. Victor was wearing black shorts, which matched his T-shirt.

He put on rather formal clothes for work.

He still wore black; it was his favorite color. After finishing his bread and butter, he drank his coffee. He opened his bedroom door, looked up the hill, and headed left, where a staircase could be seen.

Victor lived in a ten-story condominium; being on the second floor was an advantage.

Then he walked toward the bus stop.

The street was filled with cars, people, buildings, trees, and more.

Almost every time he was at the bus stop, he asked himself the same question:

What would happen if one of these things disappeared? Would it end its cycle? Or would they find an answer?

Victor waited for the bus; it finally arrived, and he got on.

Victor walked to his workplace. Upon entering, he saw several offices; all identical, a copy, lacking any authenticity. On his way to work, he greeted a few colleagues.

But even those interactions were part of the monotony, something he does daily. The offices had a table, a wastebasket, a chair, and a computer.

The office walls didn't reach the ceiling of the enormous building, and the cameras were positioned in that empty space. Positioned so that more than one office could be monitored at a time, this place was repugnant to Victor.

There were no windows.

After leaving work, he headed to a bus stop, waiting for it to pass. It finally did, after a while, of course.

Getting off the bus, he headed to his small room, which was a few blocks away.

Finally, it arrived. Victor showered and then lay down on his bed.

This time, he didn't eat dinner; he wasn't in the mood; he knew how important it was to eat.

The days repeated themselves over and over again. If this isn't hell, what is?

For Victor, the earth was a silent hell, silenced by monotony and dominated by a society that didn't understand him.