My butt is numb from sitting too long on the cold, tiled floor.
I’m trapped. I sit in the corner of the white room. It’s mostly featureless, apart from a small clock, nailed onto the wall across from me. I pull my skirt hem down as I draw my knees to my chest, hugging them. I check what time it is. It’s 11:30. AM or PM, I’m unsure.
I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know when I got here, though I know that the time was around 11:00 when I woke up. I remember waking up, sprawled on the floor and confused, trying to remember what had happened to me.
I remember the intercom at school blaring loudly before a voice called from it, saying that there was to be a lockdown. “This is not a drill,” the voice announced. I remember everyone panicking, running around haphazardly despite the teacher’s attempts to calm everyone down. I remember trying to follow the crowd, the crowd going toward the exit.
I remember the men in the white coats. I remembered their intimidating guns. One of them approached me.
I remember nothing after that.
The next thing I knew, I was brought here.
I look around the room some more. Two doors face each other on opposite sides of the room. They’re locked. Impenetrable. I’ve tried to escape. But I can’t.
It’s like I want to die but I’m forced to live. How long am I going to be kept in here? This room is a prison. I sigh.
Only a half hour passes by, though it feels like a day. The more time passes in this room, the more time feels like it’s being slowed down. Mere seconds are changed to minutes.
A stinging pain grows in my stomach. It’s hunger. I’m starving.
For a moment, I think I smell food. Pasta is what it smells like. A hallucination? The scent is getting stronger.
The door opens, and a warm, alluring steam floats into the room. A scientist in a white lab coat walks in. I like to call them Labbies. Nerdy scientists who care about no one but themselves. Since my time here - perhaps a day, or maybe two - they usually leave me alone. But once in a while, they give me food. And after that, they bring me to a questioning room to see how I’m doing.
I glance at the clock. It’s 12:00. Time for my only meal the day, I think with a tiny, pained smile.
“Lunchtime, Subject #1,” the Labby says, barely looking me in the eye as he talks. He kneels down and sets the plate on the floor. It’s macaroni and cheese.
My favorite food. How did they know?
Then he produces some silverware from his coat pocket. It’s laid down onto the floor with a clink. I don’t touch it yet.
“Thanks. You’re so kind.” Now, the Labby looks at me. He gives me a confused stare. “After all, you wouldn’t want your valuable test subjects to die of starvation, would you?”
He takes a moment to think. “Sorry. I don’t want to do this to you. None of us do. We don’t want to torture you, or hurt you. We only do this because it’s a high-paying job. Not because we’re cruel monsters who like to perform odd experiments on people, change them.”
“You changed me? How?” I ask.
But he only gives me a shrug before he stands up again and walks away. Without looking back, he says, “Maybe you’ll find out in your next questioning session. Only a few more minutes until then,” then he shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone to eat in peace.
I look at the plate of food. I pick up a fork and eat some of the macaroni. It’s still a bit warm. Perhaps he really does care about me. He’s made the food nicely.
