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[i]We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home[/i]
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The words came slow and steady from her lips, song lyrics she’d known for years and sung repeatedly to herself every day as a lullaby since her arrival to this place. It kept her mind at ease and grounded into a life she once knew, a life that had seemingly come to an end through a series of unfortunate events. And yet now, each line of the song seemed fragmented, hazy, and meaningless. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Of this, she had no bearing, no baseline to judge her passing moments. Time had no place in this shithole.

The hum of the exhaust fan above became almost hypnotic, whereas even the annoying rattling and squeaking of the internal metal gears were soon phased out, leaving a somewhat bearable droning sound of [i]white noise[/i] in it’s place that provided a decent focal point to clear away the cacophony of echoes. She wanted to be far off in another world, to allow her mind to be free from her body as long as possible, but whatever toxins they had pumped into her system didn’t allow such luxuries as independent thought. Not much thought at all really as her eyes remained wide open, staring at the moldy, cracked, and sagging yellowed ceiling tiles. Drops of water from leaky pipes in the ceiling ran down from the tiles, and onto the filthy checkered linoleum floor causing a pool of murky water in the corner that the attracted thirsty rats from time to time. The fluorescent lighting was poor, and with barely a single bulb working properly, shrouded the small desolate room with an eerie dimness, desaturating color that may have once existed. 

The girl’s wrists and ankles were strapped to a crude hospital bed that had seen better days, matching the dank, somber atmosphere that was her new living quarters since the incident a few hours earlier involving an orderly who was being less than inappropriate. The woman’s body was bruised, beaten, and defiled. Her face covered in a mixture of grime, cuts, and dried blood, but not of her own blood. She grinned at the fleeting thought of that moment when the stranger decided to touch her in ways that should not be, and knew he deserved every bit of the pain inflicted unto him. It was pain, bitterness, and regret stored up for a long time, locked away down below where no one had to see it. But he saw it. He saw the fires of rage erupt in her eyes, even while he pinned her struggling body down to take what didn’t belong to him. But in the end, the bastard allowed his own selfishness and perverse sexual appetite to skew his better judgement, only fueling the monster inside the woman to lash out in a flurry of teeth and nails, peeling flesh from face until there was only an unidentifiable shell of a man laying in his own pool of blood, piss, and maimed organs, writhing in the agony he inflicted on himself.

It wasn’t the first time the wayward girl had been consumed by the inevitable darkness growing inside her. In fact, it was that unusual disposition which landed her in the prison system, forever labelling her “psychopathic” and unfit for civil society. This imprisonment of mind and body that seemed to have no end or means of escape. Perhaps this was her fate, to be caged like some primitive animal for the rest of her life, locked away in a place that seemed to care nothing for treatments or rehabilitation, but rather torment, disgrace, and dehumanization.

[i]Maybe this is what hell truly is.[/i]

The door on the other side of the room squeaked opened, pouring in brighter light from the hallway, revealing a silhouetted figure in a lab coat. 

“Good evening 2-6-1-7, I trust you've had time to reflect on things. My name is Doctor Zvikas, or ‘Z’ if you prefer. It makes no difference to me.” 

The doctor's voice was smooth, with a slight Eastern European accent. He stepped over to the bedside, checking the integrity of the restraints and moved to have a better look at his patient’s wounds. The woman flinched as his cold hands touched her shoulder and neck, staring at his otherwise non-threatening appearance through a drug-induced haze that wanted nothing more than to gouge his steel blue eyes out.

“The shaved head suits you.” He said with a hint of sarcasm.

Not that she had a choice in the matter since her hair was cut and an electric razor run through it until nothing was left. The process, as she was told, had been standard protocol along with strict adherence to stripping and delousing each patient upon arrival, which of course was “for their protection”, whatever that meant. However, she saw it as nothing more than a public shaming, more so out of perverse pleasure than any practical reasons.

The woman tried to say something in response but it came out as a mere whisper. The doctor leaned in just close enough to hear her utter the words “Go fuck yourself” before turning her head to look away.

“Charming.” The doctor said with a soured expression. “But that’ll have to wait I'm afraid, as you have a new neighbor on their way soon, and her room needs the proper preparations."

Doctor Zvikas lifted his clipboard and scribbled a few notes before turning and heading for the door. “You'll warm up to this place my dear. Just remember, we have all the time in the world…” A slight chuckle could be heard in his voice as it drifted away and the door was shut behind him.

[@Xandrya]