9 years.
247 days.
5 hours.
26 minutes.
7...8...9....10 seconds.
That's how long I've been in this room. It smells of bleach and chlorine, making my nose constantly ache for the freshness of the outdoors. I've been in this room for so long, I can't actually remember what fresh air smells like, but I imagine it smells better than chemicals.
The strange men in white coats (I call them Coats) come and ask me a few questions each day. I usually don't speak. I just sit in my corner, tracing the tiny, spider web-like cracks in the cement wall.
23.
That's how many their are. In case you were wondering.
23 cracks.
4 walls.
1 bed.
1 clock.
1 door.
The Coats come and give me food.
Some days.
Some days, if I am good and I talk, they give me a little bit of sugar. Mmm.
But.
Some days I get nothing. Those days, I've learned, are what happens when I do something wrong. If I don't pass one of their tests.
They don't give me any warning when they are about to give me a test. They just send the men that hide behind big masks. The men shoot me with these needles (I still have scars..) that cause me to sleep.
Usually whenever I wake up, I am in a different room. A room with hundreds of different machines that they hook me up to. One by one.
To make sure I'm perfect, they say.
So that I can be better, they say.
During my first few weeks here, I resisted. I don't want to be better, I'd tell them. They hurt, I'd tell them.
They didn't listen.
After a while, I just accepted it. I knew they weren't going to stop.
After all.
I had to be perfect.
YOU ARE READING
I'm A Freak.
RandomFor 9 years, I was trapped in that room. 9 years of isolation. They took me from my home at age 8. They pulled me away from my parents. From my life. I can't really remember much about before I was put in this room. All I know is that I was never...
