White. Black. White. Black. White. Black. The only colors that exist in my world. You would say that I am deprived of color but I'll have you know that its not by choice. See, I live in a tiny sequestered area of ten feet. It has a white cot in it, with white floors and white walls. A white sink and a white toilet. Everything is white. And then it's black. Nothing. Absolute nothing. With abstract feeling I sob at black. (Yes, at black. Not at dark. Not at night. They didn't teach me that.) With gasping breaths I remain lost. And with desolate seclusion I curl into myself.

I hate when it's black. They say it means bed time. They say it signals the rise and fall of the sun out in a world. I used to ask. That didn't last long. They made it very clear that little nosy girls that ask questions don't get rewarded. You could easily get bumped down a level. That is not what you want.

I know nothing but what they tell me. I say what they say. I learn what they tell me. I do what they say. I do not belong to myself. I belong to them. They say nobody but them cares about me. They say the world is a bad world with bad people in it. They are just trying to protect me. I am supposed to believe them. They believe that I believe them.


It means I can go on with out so much as a backward glance over my shoulder. I do not have to cry at night in misery. I do not have to say what they say or do what they do.

I belong to me.

Me, myself and I.

And one of these days I will rise.