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Her P.O.V.
Waking in complete darkness is more confusing than I remember. Opening my eyes to see confusion of which way is up and which is down, I get slapped in the face with a spinning ditz. Only grasping the ground steadies the head sway and there is still no way of telling if it's day or night. No light ever shone from the forever closed door. No other prisoner started conversation with me. No sign of time was given at all. I lie on the floor for hours on hours. Time goes on and on. My mind screams louder and louder. From fidgeting to exercising I fall into old habits that distract the voices in my head from ripping me apart. I stretch my new bruises and wounds to make them ache is warm soreness, so east to focus on. I fight the walls, I beat the bars. I sing songs coded in my head and recite readings memorized. I laugh at the ceiling and cry in the corner. For every hour until sleep took over, from every minute after waking up, my best efforts to soothe the psychosis kept it at bay, until it didn't...
The darkness around me blinks away when I open my eyes after rubbing them roughly. I exhale my slipping sanity and see the white room that has replaced the dark cell. My dorm surrounds me. The white walls and barred window stir my stomach, suddenly all I know is the asylum days. Back to the routine of trying to stay off the medication, stay out of trouble, and stay plotting to get the warden, Tris, fired.
I do a quick circle, scanning all my old belongings I used to cherish. My eyes come to the bed and the memory of what hides underneath the tile slaps me in the face. Walking to the bed slowly, I look down to see my clothes clean. I take hold of the cold bars of the head board and pull the bed away from the wall. Underneath one of the square tiles that touches the trim sits scraps of papers covered in my hand writing. A small journal as well hides beneath the scraps. Kneeling down, I lift the loose tile and sift through the papers, pulling up the small black journal. I so vividly remember the last time I wrote in this little book. Tears poured down my face, my teeth chattered with my shaking hands. Blood dripped from my nose, a bad reaction to the medication they forced into my veins. I was panicking, trying to maintain my eyesight as I wrote the sloppy cursive summary of what had just happened.
I flip to the back of the book to find the very paragraph of the traumatic day but I find different entries. Entries of a different time I had written down the horrors of the days in this place.
April 7, 1947
Dear the free,
Tris caught me yesterday. It was going to be the fourth day in a row that she made me chew and swallow her pills. I went to the aviary so the birds could eat the evidence. I pulled the heist and wiped my mouth when I was done, but she saw it all. She gave me her favorite needle dose. It's the worst they've done yet. I woke this morning to guards yanking me from my bedding. They held me down and forced the long needle into my neck. It took over fast, lasted over nine hours. It wore off just now, minutes ago. I'm finally mobile again to write this letter that will hopefully find it's way to someone who can shut this whole evil place down. My muscles ache, I cannot relax, the tension is unbearable. The drugs were so cold, so paralyzing. I was unable to move anything, even blink. It tires me so yet I was unable to fall asleep. They threw me back in my bed then messed with me...parts of me. Fortunately, they didn't go as far as to have sex with me. After they left the room all I could do was lay there all day long. Only the ceiling to stare at. It was only the first day and it is the most torturous thing. Worse than the box, worse than the shocks, I think it might be a perfected treatment, they might've cracked the weapon drug solution. Man made, mad made. I'm not sure how I am to do thirteen more days of it. The dread of tomorrows needle is enough to force the unthinkable in my head, to end it all. The only reason to fight on would be to find the boy responsible and make him pay, the boy who could fly. The evil, spiteful being who is free instead of me. An evil human free to fly outside of captivity, it's not right. There is no karma. There is no god. There is no justice.
