Apocalypse

1

Kate

I sit in my room, staring at the wall from the comfort of my bed. Well, I shouldn't say that it's a room. I certainly won't say I'm comfortable, either. It really isn't either of those things. What it is, is a small white cell. There is nothing to look at except for the white desk sitting in the corner along with its matching wooden chair, the bed I'm sitting on (which is also white), the small silver vent that was up on the ceiling. And then there was the door. I dread the door and every time it opens. I don't know how long I've been here, really. Not exactly. Years, I guess. Since I was a small child.

I've been in this damned facility for as long as I care to remember. It was nice at first. I'd been pulled from an orphanage after my parents had died. I remember being really sad about it for a long time. I don't remember how it happened though. I was really young.

They raised me here. I had my own room, clothing that didn't rub my skin raw, and had colour. This place, everything is white. God, I am so sick of white.

I had friends, and teachers, and I could go outside to play. I was, for the most part, happy here. But it all changed suddenly one day. I don't remember what happiness feels like. I remember being scared and confused. The people I'd come to love had hurt me. Locked me in this room. Took away my books and my toys. Put me in this white tee-shirt and starchy white pants that had, on more than one occasion, rubbed the skin on my hips so raw that they bled. They began experimenting on me. If you think that it was just little blood tests and a TV screen with different pictures here and there like they tell you, then you're wrong. I wish you were right. I really do. But you aren't.

No. They would of course take my blood. So much that I had been close to death. But they'd stop just before it killed me, and then dump me back in my cell to recover. This went on for months. It made me really sick for a long time. I just got too weak to stand, so they stopped taking so much blood. Just a couple vials, now. I still don't really know what they use them for. I wish I could say that this is the worst thing they have done to me.

Soon after, they began sitting me down in this chair. Strapping me down with leather straps so that I couldn't move my hands or legs, or even lift my head off of the head rest. I remember being scared of the men standing over me. I had no idea what was going to happen to me, and I cried. I had every reason to cry, I think.

They'd cut into me. With scalpels at first, but eventually they started using instruments that I didn't have a name for. Digging into my skin and studying what lay beneath as far as I could tell. I would scream myself hoarse. It gradually got worse and worse, and they never gave me anything to stop the pain. Sometimes I would black out. It was the only relief I ever got in this god forsaken place.

I'd always wake up back in my room. Bandaged, but none of the smaller wounds got any stitches. Even though I think they should have because they were pretty deep. They did this to me every month for years. I wish I could say that this is the worst thing they have done to me.

I suffered unimaginable tortures at the hands of science. Endurance tests of every kind. Even making me stay submerged under water until I passed out. These made my body strong, yes. But they forced me past my breaking point every day. I wouldn't be able to tell you how many bones I broke. How many dislocations, bruises, cuts, and pulled muscles that I got. My body is riddled with scars. It's like the story of my torment will forever be written on my skin. I remember at this point in their experiments I was sobbing myself to sleep every night and wishing for death. They soon figured I was depressed, and this led to yet more tests. Figures, right? I mean, I'm only a lab rat. No one cares about how a lab rat feels. They just want to know how it works in different situations. How fast I can work out the puzzle. How much it takes to break me.