Obscurity

Chapter 20: Solitary

Sierra

Solitary is all white. White walls, white floors. Everything in this cell is white except for the gray suicide blanket. The bed is built into the wall and made of the same big blocks the walls are built with. It's essentially a slab of blocks just large enough to lay on. Not that anyone would want to lay on it, it's hard and there's maybe a half of an inch of padding.

The sink is white, and the toilet is silvery metal. There's no sitting chair, just the concrete or block bed to sit on. There's white toilet paper, and I've been warned that if I try to clog the toilet to flood my room in the hopes of being let out of the small confinements, I'll face extra time here. I'll be using the paper sparingly.

I'm no math wiz, but I'm fairly certain this room is about six feet wide and 8 feet deep. There's not much room to move around. I've paced the perimeter of this room two hundred and thirty-six times since my arrival last night.

The nurses took my regular clothing and gave me these white scrubs I'm wearing now. It's chilly in here, and they do not keep me warm. After a few rounds of walking around the small space, I climb onto the bed and wrap myself the best I can in the thick gray blanket.

The suicide blanket is made of wool I think. It's really scratchy but it's warm. It's thick and very hard to fold. It's made that way so people can't tie them to hang themselves. There are one thousand and sixty-four specs of white fibers in the gray blanket.

My abdominal muscles are sore from rocking back and forth. I lost count at nine hundred and forty-two rocks earlier this morning. At least, I think it's morning. Earlier, I counted for some time, and it added up to being about three hours. That was after I had woken up. I'm only guessing, but I think I slept for a few hours. So, all things considered, I believe I'm about half-way through my twenty-four hours here.

There's no clock in here. I won't know my time's up until someone comes to take me back to the unit.

Aside from the all-white in this Solitary room, there's a black camera perched in the corner of the room. It's a bit unnerving when I have to pee. It points to the opposite corner of the room, but I suspect it covers the entire cell. There's some sick fuck sitting at a comfy desk somewhere, monitoring me while I use the toilet. I shake my head at the thought.

I'm sick and tired of counting. But there isn't anything else to do here. I can try to sleep but the meds I'm on right now don't exactly make me tired. I feel like they wire me more than anything. Maybe I'll do some push ups...

I climb off the cement bed and stretch out long ways on the floor. I place my hands down underneath me and begin to push up. It's not terribly hard to do, but I don't do push-ups often. I wonder how many I can clock before my arms give out on me. I push and pump until I can't go on anymore.

Thirty. I can do thirty push-ups before my arm muscles burn. My shoulders feel like they are on fire. I roll over onto my back and lay there staring at the ceiling trying to catch my breath. I make a mental note to remember to breathe while I'm doing this the next time. I realize, a little too late, that I hold my breath during the push-ups and I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do them that way.

Staring up at the ceiling, I notice the light above is not very bright. It seems like it's only half-lit. Fine by me. I'd rather it this way than too bright. Superbright lighting could be a good form of torture for someone in Solitary, I think. I'll be sure to not share that theory with any of the staff here. If I did, it wouldn't surprise me if they employed the tactic.

It stinks like bleach in here. It smells too clean. It also smells like there's a pool next door. The odor is almost unbearable, but I try to ignore it. The problem is, the more I try to ignore it, the worse it seems to get. I'm starting to get pissed off.

I pace again. I do several laps around the small space before I get so angry I grab the toilet paper off the back of the toilet and chuck it as hard as I can at the black camera. It bounces off the wall above me and falls to the floor as it starts to unravel. "FUCK YOU!" I scream as I hold both hands up brandishing my middle fingers.

I stalk over to the door a start kicking it. It hurts my bare feet, but I kick and kick. I count seven kicks and then scream at the top of my lungs. I start to kick the door again.

A hidden intercom speaker buzzes to life. "Sierra, stop kicking the door please." A male voice emanates from nowhere, but everywhere at the same time, echoing off the walls.

"FUCK YOU!" I scream at the ceiling. I keep kicking the door.

"Sierra, no one is coming to open that door. You can stop kicking it now. You do not need to hurt yourself." The man's voice scolds.

"I FUCKING HATE YOU ALL!" I scream at the top of my lungs. I return to kicking the door.

"This is your last warning to stop kicking the door. If you do not comply, I will notify Chris and send a team into your cell to restrain you. Now, please stop kicking the door." The intercom stops the fuzz.

"FINE YOU FUCKERS!" I scream as I make my way, the whole five and a half feet to my concrete bed. I sit down and try to calm down. I don't need Chris extending my stay.

I take deep breaths and sit there. The foot I used to continuously kick the door is hurting like hell. I begin to regret kicking the metal door. It feels like my heel is bruised. It's definitely swelling.

I climb under my blanket and wrap myself up in it. I lay down on the concrete bed and stare at the door. I guess one good thing about throwing a tantrum and getting all pissed off is it wears me out. I'm pretty sure I can squeeze in a nap for a couple of hours to help pass the time.

I'm utterly exhausted. My throat hurts from screaming but I'll get over it. I needed to do something to wear myself down a bit. As I lay there, I watch the small window that's in the middle of the door I was kicking for any sign of life on the other side. I quickly come to the conclusion there must be some sort of covering over the window on the outside of the door because there isn't so much as a variation of light or any sort of movement to be found. It's just black.

My heart rate normalizes and I close my eyes. It isn't long before I hear a knock on the door and a key in the lock. I open my eyes and see a nurse coming into the room with two small cups in her hand.

"Time for meds, Sierra." She announces as she approaches me. "Your wrist, please." She says.

I give her my wrist and she scans my yellow bracelet. I take the chalky pills and gag as they go down. I follow them up with the tiny cup of water.

"Check." She says. And I open my mouth and lift my tongue to reveal that I did in fact swallow the pills. She retreats from the room and door closes and the lock clicks into place.

I lay back down and close my eyes. I silently count. The last number I recall reciting in my mind is three hundred and twelve.