Six Hundred

The room was pitch black, a blanket of darkness so thick she could almost feel it sitting on her chest as she laid on her cot, her eyes staring up at a ceiling she couldn't even see as she counted the seconds away. She had it down to a science by now, able to roll over from sleep at the same exact time every morning, only to stare up at the darkness as she counted how long it would take for the fluorescent lights to flicker on. It would be the same time every morning that her room would go from dark to light. And it was that light she now routinely waited for.

"Five hundred and fifty-seven. Five hundred and fifty-eight. Five hundred and fifty-nine." Her voice would softly whisper from her lips.

It was the first sound she would hear every morning, her own voice mingling in with the soft hum in her ears, a mixture of her heart beating and the blood rushing through her veins. This was her life, and it was all she knew. When it had begun, she did not know. How many days, weeks or years she had been in here, she did not know. But the darkness before the light, and the routines that were sure to follow, she knew very well. And it was those routines she waited for as she counted away the moments of darkness.

"Five hundred and ninety-eight. Five hundred and ninety-nine. Six hundred."

It was then that the silence was broken by the flickering sounds from the fluorescent lights above. In the beginning, when it all began, her eyes would blink, fighting the bright sensation that flooded the dark room. But now, having grown used to it, her eyes would just continue to stare, pupils shrinking as her eyes drank in the bright flickers of light.

"Six hundred." She'd say again as if taking note with a nod of approval for once again being right before her legs would swing over the edge of the cot.

Sitting up, her form would bend left, then right, stretching her stiff muscles to life. It wasn't the softest of beds, but it was all she knew. Lifting her arms, fingertips would reach for lights she could never touch, a groan echoing in the room before she would stand to her feet. The room was small in size, with just enough space for her cot and chair which sat only a foot away. The walls, pale white, stained with smudges of a smoky gray from one corner to the next. To some, it would seem almost sickening, as if a fire had once engulfed the small space, but it was all she knew. As she stood, she would once again stare at the lights, the one to the far left giving off a few extra flickers before it finally gave off a continuous glow. That was new. The light was growing old and losing its power. Other lights had once done this, but then would, as if by magic, be automatically fixed. So sure that would be the case with this one.

She was draped in a long white silky nightgown, long enough to tickle the tops of her feet whenever she moved across the room, and thin enough for the lights to reveal a form that wore nothing else underneath. Her hair was long and soft, just reaching below her shoulder blades. And her eyes a bright green that practically sparkled in the light. She had no mirrors to check her appearance, but it would be flawless even at first light of day.

Moving towards her chair she would slowly sit, her back straight with perfect posture as she folded her hands into her lap. This was the routine, to move from the bed to the chair to sit and wait. It would never take long either as she soon heard the footsteps down the hall outside. They would click and clack, before going silent. Then click and clack again, only to once again grow silent. She had counted every pause and knew how many it would take before the clicks and clacks were outside her door.

"One." She'd whisper as the clicks and clacks came to their first pause. And she would continue to count each one. It wasn't as though she expected something different. On the contrary, she knew it would always be the same, and found a small bit of pride in always being right. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six." She'd say as her head canted to the side. Six was always the last pause, and she would be right again today as the room was soon filled with a rusted squeaking sound, the hinges from the slot on her door screaming as the slot was opened and a brown paper bag shoved through.