Three Days

Three days.

Three damn days.

Three days of being trapped here in some god-forsaken facility with only bland white walls and pale men in labcoats.

Three days of being hooked up to more machines than I could remember and being poked in places I don't even want to mention.

Three days.

They had dragged me into here screaming and kicking. I had asked no questions and none had been answered. So busy was I struggling that I didn't even care. Maybe I should have cared, because I care now. If I had just thought to ask, maybe I would actually have something to think about, instead of the fact that I know absolutely nothing. That's what's so maddening. Me, so used to being in control, knew absolutely nothing. Now I was completely at their mercy. And I hate that.

Bored. Lonely. Slowly going insane. I'm surprised that I'm not already insane. Three days has been an eternity and the boredom alone should be enough to kill me.

There's a computer waiting in the corner, forgotten. They brought it in the first day, I remember, and requested I do what I wish with it. Then I had just smashed the computer against the wall. That protest, as dramatic as it may have seemed, did absolutely nothing. The 'scientists' I suppose simply brought another computer in when I was too emotionally and physically tired to try break it again. Then I had sat at that computer and tried to write letters, messages, stories, anything, just to keep busy. But my muse had never been there to begin with and the small well of literature quickly dried up. It's mostly messages of hate that cross that screen now. Every once in a while one of the men in the white coats will come in to read those message, while I sit on the bed and do nothing. They seem confused by the hastily written words, although none of them ever say as much. Distant mutters reach me but nothing more. I don't even care.

As I sit on the bed now, too tired to even cry, the door slides open. I expect more scientists to walk in and turn my back so I don't even have to look at them. I think they enjoy having me captive here. They aren't torturing me or raping me, which is probably a blessing, but the frustration is almost as bad. I hate being a pawn.

"You." The voice is abrupt but not one of the scientists. I wrap my arms around my legs and glare harder at the wall. I imagine stabbing the head scientist with a pick-axe. Imagine the blood spraying. Imagine digging out his intestines and stringing them on the lights...

"I said, you." The voice is more forceful now.

"I have a name." I don't know if he can even hear me. My voice is that quiet. But if I spoke any louder I'm sure that I would scream.

"Not here, you don't."

So he did hear me. I barely have time to reflect on this before my arm is grabbed and I am hauled off the bed.

My head bangs on the floor painfully and I lie there in shock for a moment staring at a pair of boots. Then the hand grabs me again and I'm pulled to my feet. For a moment I struggle... then ultimately give up. It's just too hard to keep fighting. And I've fought over and over and it got me nowhere. That realisation brings sudden tears to my eyes and I sag against him. The hands push me away roughly. No sympathy revealed. "You have'ta come with me."

I don't resist as he pulls me out through the door. One would think it was a prime opportunity to escape. I knew better. Guards and scientist lurked around every corner and where the humans didn't get me, the energy fields would. Painful...

I'm being dragged through blank white walls smelling of disinfectant. I will hate the colour white for the rest of my life. Before all this had happened, before I had been ripped away from my life, I had loved the colour white. It was the colour of bunny rabbits and fluffy clouds and the colour of innocence. Now all it would do forever onwards would be to bring back that sterile smell that makes me want to throw up.

"Keep moving, don't make me drag you." I'm lagging behind him and he pulls me roughly. Very commander type of guy, I guess. Used to having orders followed. Which is strange because he doesn't look like it. Not how the typical take-charge guy should look. It's the hair, I think it must be the hair, it's just so hard to take that hair seriously. Absolutely flaming red. I haven't had a good look at his face yet, but the hair stands out in my mind.

"I said, keep moving!" his grip tightens and he jerks me painfully. I pull back trying to tell him 'not so hard', but he just holds me tighter and keeps walking. I have to almost run to keep up with his quick, military pace. Yes, it's hard to take that hair seriously but no one can mistake the attitude.

Presently we arrive at another bland white door. They all look the same. To confuse us, I suppose, all of us held captive here. Because I'm sure there are more. One, more at least, I'm sure of. The one who was brought here with me. I wonder where she is...

The room we enter is bare except for a bench and a whiteboard. Before releasing me, he locks the door and makes sure it is secure. I am a prisoner again.

"What do you want now?" I ask tiredly, staring at the whiteboard with a blank face. He turns to look at me directly.

"You've had enough time to adjust. We start lessons now."

For the first time I have a good look at his face. The red hair is disarrayed, scattered everywhere as if he just rolled out of bed. His eyes were not 'sky blue' or 'as blue as the face of someone who has been deprived of oxygen too long', just an ordinary shade of blue in an ordinary pale face. But there is still something strange about his eyes. I don't see it at first and then it hits me. His pupils. They aren't like ordinary pupils should be. His are completely dilated, far too huge for the brightness of the room. I wonder if he is blind for his eyes to be like that. But then he smiles at me and I realise he's focusing quite perfectly.

"What kind of lessons?" I ask tiredly, trying to separate our gazes. But his eyes are almost hypnotic. He reminds me of a cobra about to strike at its prey. Me.

"Lessons on life." He says.

I doubt it. True I haven't lived long, but I feel I know enough about life.

"So," he begins. "How are you enjoying all we have to offer?"

I look up at him, wondering if he is serious. It seems he is. "I hate it. I want to go home."

He laughs. "Oh, they all say that at first." He waves away my anger as if it is nothing. "How long have you been here, anyway?"

How sad he should ask that question. How pathetic I had the answer ready. "Three days."