Without a working watch or clock he had no concept of how much time had passed. His senses estimated it was eight hours, maybe more. He tried sitting at the open window staring at the blackness, but after a while it unnerved him. The portable television on the dresser didn’t work, so he unplugged it and carried it to the window, resting it on the sill.
What happens if I drop this out there? Maybe this whole thing is a mirage, an illusion created by Portia to try and keep me from leaving? If that’s the case, then surely throwing something so heavy and real into the ‘void’ will shatter the illusion?
He counted to three, then shoved the television over the edge and watched it tumble down into the darkness. He waited, holding his breath, waiting for something to happen, waiting for it to hit something, to bounce off the scenery . . .
But it didn’t.
It continued to fall until it was a speck in the darkness, then it was gone.
He shivered, the hairs standing up on the skin of his forearms.