White Walls

The door

Alvea woke up to the sound of nothing. No birds chirping. No cars driving by. No people talking. Maybe she had even forgotten how that sounds. All she heard was her own breathing. An all to known sound since she was locked up. Trapped in her own mind, they called it. The men outside the door. The men in the white suits. Always completely dressed in white, except for the black mask that covered their mouth and the black goggles that covered their eyes. They were always talking about her. They talked about her as if she could not hear them, but they knew she could. She could because of the bars. The bars attached to the door. Her white room had a door. A beautiful door that was just as regular as any other door. It was a way to leave and enter the room. A way to go from one place to another. But not for Alvea. That door meant the amazing pain of torture. The men in the white suits would open it once a day to give her food, and once a week to help her. At least, that is what they said. It did not feel like helping to her. The food they gave her was just to delay her inevitable death. The food was not that good, but after knowing days of hunger even the slightest bit is eaten without complaint. The best food was given after her treatment. This was probably because of the high amount of blood that she lost after each treatment. Every week a man dressed as a doctor would come in wearing a white doctors robe. His head would be covered by the mask and the goggles. He would then come in and 'help' her. This morning something strange  happened. 

The doctor came in as usual wearing his mask and goggles. He was carrying a black leather suitcase, which he only brought on the rougher days. On the days that Alvea hated. The doctor always had a strange way of moving. He always seemed to be creeping everywhere. And as he creeped to the bed and placed his suitcase next to Alvea, he seemed to look her in the eyes. But she did not notice. She never noticed. She looked straight forward with dull eyes as if nothing even came to her anymore. Nothing reached her, the doctor said to the men in white suits once. But it did. Their arrogance and complete utter ignorance left them in a haze of unknowing as she was as perceptible as she was clever. In the beginning she tried to fight it, but after several tries she came to the conclusion that it was useless, not matter what she tried. The doctor always came back. 

He was opening the suitcase and pulled out an all too familiar drill. It was sparkling clean. Which meant that they either cleaned it completely or bought a new one. The drill had a strange ending. It had a circle of five sharp little blades pointing upwards on the top, with one large blade circulating the cylinder. The doctor checked the sharpness of the blade once before slowly bringing it up to Alvea's head. He placed the tiny blade against her temple. A little stream of thick dark blood crept down her cheek as the drill moved a little deeper into her head. Alvea knew what was next, but she did not flinch. Not once. She would not give them the satisfaction. No, she would laugh. Laugh the pain away. That's what her mother told her after her father would beat her. Her mother would say that there are worse things that can happen than pain. So Alvea laughed as the doctor turned on the drill, opening the just healing wound of two weeks ago. The blood now gushed out of the wound. The drill moved deeper into her skull. Dizziness hit Alvea as the drill seemed to hit her brain. The dizziness made her laugh even more. Hysterical laughter filled the room as blood mixed with the tears that fell from her dull blank eyes. The blood and tears fell on her white gown and splattered all over the doctors coat. But the worst was yet to come. The doctor turned of the drill as it was still in her head. Alveas eyes started turning over in their sockets. That was a sign for the doctor to stop. He slowly removed the drill from her head leaving a gaping hole that had now been opened so many times, Alvea lost track. She was still laughing. The doctor bandaged her head and sat next to her on the bed. 

"You broke your own record." He said. "You broke everyone's record. No one lasts as long as you do and we want to know why. You probably don't even understand how important all of this is. You are safe with us you know that right?"

Alvea didn't answer. She just sat there with a smile on her face and tears running down her cheeks. Half her face and neck were covered in blood. 

"I know that you don't want to talk. Well, let's clean you up and get some painkillers in you and then I'll be done for today." He said.

The doctor did as he said. He undressed Alvea, took a stained rag and cleaned most of the blood off of her skin. He put her into a new robe and opened his suitcase again. This time her left the, now bloody, drill. He took out a long syringe. The doctor took her arm and pricked the syringe right in. The fluid that was put in her was the most wonderful thing. All white turned into the most amazing colors. She would finally be able to see her mother. Her mother was her beacon of light, the one that helped her through the pain. Her mother taught her that a smile is how people will like you. A smile is what will make you happy.