The walls are black, the air is heavy. He breathes deeply and silently, the music slowly draws to a close; as the last note reverberates around him, he looks up from the corner of the room.
He begins to cry, he doesn't know why, he misses the music, it has kept him sane through the years. A tear trickles down his mellow, pale skinned cheek picking up speed on its descent. Nearing the end of its journey it trickles down the line of his jaw before falling for what seems eternity, and hitting the ground with a loud thump.
He again awakens.
The walls are black. There are spots of white on the ground where he had been crying. A deep note strikes the room, rippling the walls like an ocean wave.
He looks up, each strike of the note altering the color of the walls, rendering them a redder hue. For once he smiles, he feels complete. The sides of his face engraved from the metal, the bridge of his nose indented slightly from the heaviness of the glasses. He picks his hand up to remove them. A sense of peace rushes over him, an emotion he had not felt for years, it was over, his work was done, he could finally sleep for good. And so he slowly drifted off.
He once again awoke.
The walls are black, they were always black.
There is no music, there was never any music.