The bruises on her arms were darkening with each day. She traced the hand print gingerly with the tip of her nail. Just emptiness. There was no more pain in her mind, all that happened happened in passing. Her consciousness didn’t seem to be present when they came in. Each of their different attributes seemed to meld together. They never gave her peace. The hushed sound of their hose or pants rubbing together came through the door. It was always there. They were always there. Whatever they wanted with her, it didn’t matter, they received it. Their white linen clothes should be soaked in red. Or at least she thinks they should be. Maybe one day soon.
Each night they induced darkness to cloak the pitted room and by the time the lights came back on she needed the nurses to let her out of there. The room killed sound. They must be testing the effects of prolonged exposure to negative decibels. The platform of plywood that served as a floor over the boxed off areas of air. The functions of her body and all the separate noises they made became music to her ears after a day of isolation. The wheezing sound as air hissed through her lungs became the painful reminder that she was still alive. Every flap of her coronary valves made her aware of time passing slowly by. The only interaction she would get is with the nurses and doctors.
Each time was the same. They asked her about her experiences in the room, the sights, emotions, thoughts, or anything else she would like to talk about. Each time she replied the same, describing the aesthetics of the room. She knew from the start that there would be no hope begging or bartering for her freedom. She asked once when she could leave this hell and once the topic had successfully been evaded, there was her answer. She never told them about the first “night” she spent there, the first night into the dark. The first time meeting the demons that had been inside of her head. When the lights went out on that night, the soft beastly glow illuminated the only way to survive in hell.