He sat in the bare room at the bare table on the hard wooden chair. This was a room made to his own design. He sat there and listened to the silence. It had a harsh quality, burning and bleak. He wondered if it was silence, or whether the frequency hum of the single light bulb was leaking into his ears, hardening the silence it cut through. He assumed that he could also hear the hum of his own blood making its way around his body, alongside the creaks and gurgles of his joints and digestive system, the minuscule rasp of his breathing. He wanted to test himself. He wanted to know whether he would be able to survive if he were to become the only person left on the planet. He didn’t know why. He had no expectation of a global disaster that would leave only him unaffected physically. He just wanted to know what the silence would be like and if he could cope. So he experienced silence for twenty four hours, presuming that it would send him mad. Twenty four hours of silence, arid and dry like a desert of red sand, stretching out with no respite.