Secrets, Suffering, and Screams

1

     It's a white room. A completely white room. A room of screams. Where the screams bounce off the walls and they echo for hours on end, or it could just be that the screaming does. I don't actually know, all I know is that they're suffering, and so am I. 

     For some, the screams would be the creation of nightmares, but for me, it's normal, no, let me rephrase, it will never be normal, but you have to pretend it is so. If I didn't, I would already be dead, whether it would be by my own hand or not. The screams aren't even the worst though, the dead corpses are. Motionless bodies coming out of rooms similar to my own, or even this exact one, I can see the blood of its victims dripping down the polar white walls, and I always wonder, whether that blood will soon be mine and I'll be that cold skeleton coming out next, dead. Everyone here is as good as a skeleton, whether the skin has just been eaten away from their dead body or even if they're alive and like me, not knowing when death will finally whisk them away. Death. Some fear the word, other's ignore it, but I've accepted it as my fate. I'm not some fearful fool, it's just that I am destined to die here. It's already killed my wolf, what's stopping this place from just taking me too? That's right, nothing is.

     It's not like anyone would know even if I died. The white coats would, but I would just be one of many, another corpse to bury, probably not even bury, just another corpse for the crows to feed on, and another failed experimentee for the Institution. The white coats are the heart of the Institution and at the beginning, I would fight against them when they injected me with their poison, I would try to rip out their hearts, but then more would just appeared. The white coats were expendable, but so were we. One would die and a new lab rat or lab wolf would be brought into this white place of hell and the experimentations would continue. And then it became, why fight when there's no will. Hope was a dangerous thing. In the beginning, it fueled the need to fight, but then as days turn into weeks, and then weeks into years, and as the years added up, the hope died away. And after my many years of painful existence, I just numbed myself and it was easier to just forget than try to hold onto my dwindling memories. The person I was before it all happened, died, but fragments of memories didn't. It could be that I was unconsciously just not willing to let them go. Even so, I remember those calloused hands engulfing my own, the sound of her nightingale voice, and those muddy hands plucking me by the waist. I shouldn't remember them, it's not like they help me survive this place. They don't, and I don't even know why I still have them, the only thing I know is survival, my survival. 

     A white coat comes in, and my eyes drop to the floor. They stay there. The prick of a long slice across my forearm doesn't warrant a reaction, not even a flinch, nor a scream. My throat is bone dry, but I wouldn't even scream if I could. Those screams I mentioned, they're just the new experimentees, or they could be one of the older ones who never learnt how to deal with the pain. It's not like anyone is there to teach you. In this world, it's survival of the fittest and every woman for themselves. That's right, women, only women, in some sadistic way, I believe that the white coats are encouraged by the screams and the pleading of weak women. And that's just another reason why I won't scream, apart from the fact that I can't. The nonchalant mask I have grown accustomed to wearing on my face doesn't falter even as I vividly remember that single woman. She was the mother hen when we all had nothing, she held us all together when no one was watching, but then she met the only fate one would encounter here. Death. Murdered in cold blood like all those others and I stared at her unseeing eyes for so long, but that was only the calm before the storm. Marie Anne, that was her name and I can just imagine her looking down upon us with the disappointment etched upon her face. That was the day I and many others fell apart, and we all knew, none of us could replace Marie Anne, so none of us tried and with that, we all went into our own darkness, and so did all the girls in the future. Then the tingle in my forearm increases and the white coat searches my face for any reaction. They write on a white piece of paper and then the door shuts close and I hear the familiar click of the lock. They think I'll escape. I did amuse the idea at the beginning, but eventually, the idea went out of the window. Get it, the window, when there is none. Hilarious. 

     I hear a crash outside, and then some pleading, and I already know what's going to happen. I hear grunts and screams, and I can just imagine another delicate flower dulling as the petals fall off and wilts. But then it goes silent, dead silent. A foreboding silence. Down here, it is never silent and the eerie cloud of suspicion suffocates me.  Have they finally decided to take down this organisation? Or have they just killed everyone else? But next thing I know, a white coat rushes into the room and they yank me from my binds. They yank off my flimsy white gown and force me into some red dress. And at this point, I'm not even concerned about my nakedness, I'm just thinking about survival and death. Both are very possible. And I don't mind either.

     I'm pulled out of the white room, in my red gown by the white coat. I hear shuffling around me and I already know, I'm not the only one in here as a sheep in the slaughterhouse. I catch the sight of a girl with tears streaming down her face, and in distant memory, I remember that being me, but I already knew, she need not no-one, she'd eventually get over it, like I had done those years ago, after Marie Anne that was. Thundering steps are heard, and next thing I know, I'm being pulled, and a hand wraps around my waist. 

"Beautiful." I look at the blood-covered floor. 

"Remove your hand now," I hear whimpers around the room, but I'm not one of those who do so. And when I sneak a look, at who's holding my arm, my blood runs cold. The face you never forget. 

"She is my daughter and you cannot take her,"

"Then I guess I'll have to kill you" The grip tightens around my waist, but apart from the whimpers, the room is silent.

"Fine, fine, take her, you can have her," I'm being moved and I'm being grasped by another. My feet don't compute, so I'm just dragged out, by who I know would be a white coat.

I feel a breath on my neck.

"You've found her, I can't wait to see her kill our head warrior, he's such a dick, I don't mind him being dead." 

"It's not her." Blood pricks on my wrist, but it only feels like a drop of rain, not that I would even know what it feels like.

     I'm in a new cage of black, and I'm strapped down to be the next experiment. I feel the bumps and vibrations underneath me, and I know it's not actually movement, but the synthetic vibrations of their workstation. It's not like I would be allowed to go anywhere anyway, I've been in the white hell hole for who knows how many years, and I know they didn't suddenly have a change of heart and decided to let us leave. An unknown amount of time passes and eventually, I fall into the land of sleep where the white coats smile as they plunge a knife through my chest. How kind of them. And this time, there's no hint of sarcasm. 

Author's Note:

Heyo, 

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