Breaking Point

II. The Cell

Francis awoke in a fetal position in a big empty room.  The plastic grass floor scratched against his bear skin from head to toe.  He rolled on to his back and stretched out his legs.  He reached his arms above his head in a big V, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  He looked down at himself.  He was naked except for a loin cloth around his waist.  He felt the groggy side effects of the drugs as he sat up and looked around.  

This is a cage, he thought, definitely a cage.  It was perhaps 30 feet long and 20 fee wide, with 10 foot ceilings.  Three walls were made of smooth, dull grey metal.  The ceiling had the same look and texture, but it was more illustrious. In the center of the room there was a couch and an armchair oriented around a coffee table.  A few feet behind the couch sat a bare queen size mattress. All of the furniture looked as if it had come from the thrift store.  He felt his legs scratch against the harsh plastic grass as he stood up.

The fourth wall was conspicuously non-existent.  The grass and walls ended, and the ceiling dropped about 4 feet.  A wall with various controls and displays lay 6 feet beyond where the grass ended, creating a metal corridor that stretched beyond the cage.  He heard a soft buzzing sound like a refrigerator grow louder as he approached the missing wall.  My life savings says there’s an electric fence or a force field blocking the exit, he thought.  Francis searched around the room for something he could use to test his theory. 

The room temperature felt quite comfortable despite his skimpy clothing.  If he had to guess, he would say it was a dry 85 degrees.  As he walked farther away from the missing wall, the buzzing grew quieter.  He heard short, quiet, rapid breathing.  It was coming from behind the couch.  He went to investigate.

She was sitting on the ground with her back against the back of the sofa.  Her thighs were pressed up against her chest, her arms were hugging her bare knees and her face was buried into her lap.  Her whole body shook between each breath.

“Hello?”  he asked softly.

No response.  She didn’t even look in his direction.  “Excuse me?” he said a bit louder.  Nothing.  He came closer and stooped down, trying to get a better look at his new cell mate.  Gingerly, he reached out to touch her on the forearm.

“Agh!”  She sobbed softly as she twisted away from his hand. 

That’s understandable, he thought as he respectfully backed away from her.   She was in shock.  He wondered how long she had been here.  He looked around for a blanket or shirt, anything he could use to cover her shoulders.  Nothing.  The room was empty. An idea struck him when he saw the zipper on one of the couch cushions.

It was a dusty, brown corduroy couch, the same one that your friend with the disgusting party house had in his living room in college.  He picked up the middle cushion and opened the zipper.  A cloud of dust puffed out as he took the fabric cover off the cushion.  He dropped the naked foam on the ground.  It had that slightly stale cotton smell, like it had been sitting in a storage locker for a year.  He shook it vigorously like a rug.  A cloud of dust danced in the air and flew across the room with each shake. 

It’s a little cleaner, he thought.  He walked back around the couch to where the woman was trembling.  He touched her forearm gently, but more firmly this time.  He felt her body tense, but she did not twist away.   She lifted her back from against the back of the couch. Then, he rested the cushion cover over her back, putting the softer, clothe side against her skin.  Slowly, she lifted her head from between her legs.  As she pulled the fabric around her back, she met his gaze.

“Thank you,” she said, but in a language he did not understand.  She was of Asian descent, though Francis couldn’t tell from which country.   Her eyes pointed down without lingering on his gaze.