The White Room Dropout - A CotE Fanfic

Part 46.5: Beneath The White Walls

Inside a room where its furnishings was so minimal that the term "minimalistic" would be an overstatement, the atmosphere weighed down with the emptiness of a void. The room, utterly devoid of windows, had only one solitary door as the singular connection to the outside world. Within this chamber, time seemed suspended, as if it had no role beyond confining those within its boundaries. The room's starkness was magnified by its lack of adornments, defying conventional notions of space and time. It was a place where the very concept of existence was distilled to its bare essentials.

In the heart of this desolation lay a solitary figure, a young girl of perhaps no more than nine years of age. She lay sprawled on a simple cot, her small frame curled into a fetal position, her tangled brown hair obscuring her features. She had been asleep for an eternity, it seemed, or perhaps just a few hours. Her slumber was heavy, the kind that comes from a body weary beyond measure.

The room remained cloaked in darkness until, as if by some unseen hand, the lights were abruptly switched on. In that instant, the stark illumination pierced the girl's sleep-laden mind, and her eyes shot open with the suddenness of a lightning strike.

The child's reaction was almost mechanical, as if a switch within her had been triggered. She sprang to her feet with an agility that belied her exhaustion, the blankets that had cocooned her slipping to the floor in a forgotten heap. The harsh light cast long shadows across her face, revealing a mixture of vulnerability and determination that was well beyond her years. The little girl moved with haste, abandoning the forgotten pile of blankets that had cocooned her moments ago, she left her austere room behind.

Outside her room, she found herself in a narrow, sterile hallway. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted a cold, clinical white, as if designed to eliminate any trace of warmth or humanity. It was as though the very essence of life had been drained from this corridor.

The hallway was flanked by identical doors, each leading to another room like hers. From these rooms, children of her age were emerging, they seemed accustomed to this routine, moving with an air of practiced efficiency.

The scene was surreal, a tableau straight out of a dystopian tale. The children, clad in simple, uniform clothing, filed out of their rooms with a sense of familiarity, like individuals who had long accepted their fate.

The little girl, like the other children emerging from their rooms, displayed a practiced ease as she took in her surroundings. Her gaze swept to the right, and her eyes landed on a specific door. It was as if she had done this countless times before, and the truth was that she had. With unwavering precision, she had memorized the layout of the hallway and the positions of each door.

Four rooms to the right, she found the one she was seeking. Behind that door was a brown-haired boy with an apathetic expression, someone who was no stranger to the routine of their confined existence.

As her eyes fell upon him, the girl's face softened, and for the first time since she had awoken in this sterile environment, a small, genuine smile graced her lips. It was a simple, yet profound expression of recognition and perhaps even comfort. In the midst of this surreal and inexplicable world, she found solace in him as if it were a lifeline, a source of hope in a place where hope seemed to have no place.

...

Following their appearance in the hallway, they were led to facilities where they would take turns taking showers. The rooms for such activities were stark, devoid of any personal touches, and maintained the same clinical aesthetic that characterized their living quarters. The children moved with mechanical efficiency, performing their morning rituals as if they were part of a well-oiled machine.