blue

VII

I was trapped in the middle of a padded cell. No one was here to break me out of this hell. The screaming, the crying, the injections... I wasn't insane yet, but this place was about to make me go insane. There was nothing left to ease the only sanity I had left. I was holding onto it so tightly, but I was terrified that it wasn't tight enough.

"Please," I said to myself. "Please just give me a razor, give me a needle, give me a knife. Let me do you all a favour and release myself from this hell."

No one could hear me screaming and crying, no matter how loud I was. No one would ever come to my rescue; it was just me and these padded walls. It felt like each thing I thought was beginning to be written on these very walls. I want to put holes in these walls with my fists until they bleed. I don't want to think anymore. Each section of the cell I was sitting in has different writing on the walls. Physically abused; that's the one I don't want to look at. These walls definitely aren't blank, I just don't want to see them. But why not? I was thrown in here for being 'insane', so I may as well read them.

I'm not insane, am I? How could they tell me achromatopsia wasn't a real condition? Thousands of doctors have told me it is. Everyone believed me. How can it all of a sudden just never exist? It definitely feels like it exists, I thought. I know it exists. I kept blinking again and again to make sure it was real, holding onto my last bit of hope that maybe it isn't real. I would rather be insane than to actually have this condition. But it was real, and I know this because every time I opened my eyes the same black and white reality was placed in front of me.

I was going to get to the bottom of this. They can't keep me in here forever, with all these questions running through my mind... can they?

Where was my mom? Does she even know what they're doing to me? Do I even know what they want to do with me?

I took some time to ponder that question. No, I had no idea what they were going to do to me. The nurse had told me that I was the worst case of insanity they have ever seen. I've lived my entire life with a 'fake condition'? How is that even possible? Why do they think it's fake; what proof do they have?

I wasn't sure if any of my questions would be answered. Maybe they were just leaving me in this cell to rot. I would prefer that over being a test subject, actually.

I decided to get some rest and think about it all tomorrow.

A few days later

The days keep ticking, the time won't stop passing. All I could do was sit here and be ambushed by my own thoughts.
"Please! Just stop thinking," I cried, hitting my head on the walls, but being unsuccessful each time, as they were made of sponge and just let my head bounce back each time.

I hadn't eaten since I was thrown in here. I just need food, I thought.

As if on cue, the cold metal door creaked open. I tried to stand, but my legs were too limp. I proceeded to crawl to whichever nurse this was.

"Please, you have to help me! Is this what you wanted? Is this what I need? Do you want me to stay on my knees and plead? Whatever you ask, I'll do it, just get me out of here."

I could see the person's eyes. they belonged to the nurse who told me my condition isn't real.

"You!" I spat. "You put me here! This is all your fault! My condition is not fake. If you don't let me out I-I swear to god I will punch you."
He just started to laugh. It only made me more furious.

"Why are you laughing at me? What's so god damn funny?!" My dry throat croaked.
Without saying a word, he slipped some water through the crack of the door as if I was a lost, injured puppy. At this point, I wasn't much more than an animal. When you're this hungry, you can't help but turn into one.

As he walked away, I listened closely and heard him say something to someone.
"We'll have fun with her, won't we Elizabeth?"