Donor

Chapter 1

Eyes scanning around the small room which I am contained in. White, as far as the eye can see just splotches of white objects, sitting upon white tiled floors within high white walls.

No matter how long; how hard you could search for colour, the only ounce you would find would belong to someone else, attached to their head or sitting inside their eye sockets. You would not be able to scavenger out a single spec of dirt in this pristine white building. The closest thing to colour is my skin, but to be completely honest, it's almost like the walls. I know these types of things aren't healthy, but it's not really my decision.

The days here have been the same. Always have been, always will be. Day upon day just living in this "perfect", bland building with the same Donor's and minding your own business.

Nothing ever happens.

I sit upon the white block that I sleep upon, picking at the flesh underneath my fingernails and hoping desperately to seek some colour.

That's why I love flowers so much. They hold such beauty within them and are such a dainty things. Yet they shine brightly with the colour that they possess. I have only ever seen one. I was walking past the doors to other rooms and out of one, in the corner of my eye I saw a girl. She looked as if she was around my age and in her pale hands, she held a small blue rose. I had never seen one before and there it was. My head sharply jolted back in her direction to get another glimpse, but she was gone. Her dark hair had disappeared into another door somewhere; I have never seen her again.

Then my love for flowers began, my hope of seeing another one always there inside of me.

I learned what each colour and each flower meant. A blue rose means the unattainable, the impossible. I am still clueless as to why she was holding a rose in her hands of the colour blue but, I guess it never mattered anyway.

My hazel coloured hair falls down my back in long strands, eyes a light hazel to match. The two things I was named after.

The plain white jumpsuit that is my uniform hangs over my shoulders; losing my body underneath it. Making me blend in with my surroundings.

In the distance I can hear faint sirens, erupting throughout my eardrums. The smell of strong cleaning products flow up my nostrils. These are two things that I have become very used to.

Suddenly I see a ruby red spec underneath my nail. In what seems like forever searching for this colour to fill my eyes once again. I dare not let my eyelids flutter against my cheeks for more than a second as I am afraid that the colour that is within my eyes will be gone all too soon, like the many previous times I have seeked colour from my body.

Many other Donors cut to the fast route, finding a sharp object close to them and injecting it into the flesh of their inner arm just to see what our eyes are deprived of. It is not very common for us Donors to be around any dangerous objects in this place though; we are too closely watched for our health and safety to be made sure that any of their precious organs or body parts are damaged.

Drowning out the sounds of sirens; loud high pitched beeping echoes throughout my small white room.

Whenever our next get together or meal is up, that beeping goes off. Some would say it's annoying but I just find it something else to focus on. Trying to ignore the fact that at any seconds, of any day you could be called up for surgery.

We don't get any warning. If we are up, then we are up and we don't even know it's coming.

Many built up guards are plotted around the buildings, to keep an eye on us. They aren't really guards as such. They never have had to take action for something extremely bad. They are just there to make sure we don't try to escape or harm ourselves.

This place can drive you insane. Other Donor's here have tried to end their lives before, I guess it just came too much to handle.

None have succeeded though. They were just taken to another ward; beats me what's in that ward. I have only ever landed my gaze upon ward H, where I am kept along with my many other Donor's. Sometimes Donor's get transferred, but it is a very rare thing to happen.

I live along a very strict system, as does everyone else.

Pushing off the hard surface of the box with my weak pale hands I slowly make my way to the glass door, inside the glass wall that looks upon the hall.

I am able to see every other Donor in their rooms as they wait, like me for a guard to come and scan his card to let us out.

"Normal" people would probably feel claustrophobic. These small rooms don't have any windows expect the large glass wall allowing you to only see more small white rooms.

"Normal" people would probably also prefer their privacy. We have never had such a value.

A tall man, with light stubble upon his chin and short brown hair approaches my room. The white uniform he wears hangs low on his body as he quickly scans his card against my key code and moves along to the next room.

The glass door slides to the right automatically, allowing me to step outwards.

I turn my head to the right, scanning the room with my eyes and watching one by one all of the other Donors walking in the direction to the lunch hall.

This place may be a prison; I may hate it with every ounce of blood that boils within me, but at least they allow us to socialise during lunch. All other meals are just delivered to our rooms.

The food itself is absolutely vile. It is all we get though, so it's either that or starve.