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Looks like I may have a ton of these, so this is collection 1 of Reflections |
| BC Prompt: When was the last time you dedicated a day to yourself? If you have, share the details and their effects on you at the end of the day. If you haven't, why not, and would you if given the chance? Note: Written as a chapter/scene in my upcoming NaNoWriMo novel. I wake up in the dark room well rested but wary. The heavy metal door has been left open allowing a liberal amount of yellow light to seep in. The skewed rectangle of light looks odd against the impermeable caliginous of my temporary safe haven. The juice and sandwich I had thrown on the floor last night was still there, palely glowing with the thinnest reaches of the beam outside my door. I sit up. Maybe they weren't trying to make me sick. Surely if they wanted to poison me they could have done it with the needle they stuck me with last night. I don't want to think about yesterday. I don't want to think at all. Shoving all thought from my mind I am forced to focus on my body. I do a quick assessment: legs fine, left buttocks a bit sore where they stuck me, arms good. I roll my shoulders a few times and revel in the feel of my shoulder blades contracting. I roll my head in a few circles around my neck and feel my tension ease somewhat. My throat is sore from all the screaming I've been doing. I pick up the apple juice and inspect it closely. It is a small plastic cup, about a half pint, sealed with a thin aluminum paper top. It would be easy for them to stick a needle in the top, but I see no signs of tampering and I have decided they won't poison me. The worse it will probably do is make me drowsy and I have a feeling I won't want to be up for long anyway. The juice is delicious. I always did like apple juice, plus it has the added benefit of helping with my regularity. Given the week I have been having my bowels are sure to need all the support they can get. Without bothering to inspect it I rip open the second container of juice and gulp it down greedily. This one is cranberry apple juice, another great diuretic. That done I pick up the sandwich. Dry turkey on a dry hamburger bun. My stomach rebels. I toss the meager proportions back into the darkest corner of my room. Though 'room' doesn't feel right, more like a 'cell'. There are three doors into my cell. The one facing me while lying down is open. The second one behind me is closed and probably leads to the nurses station. A blinder covers the window so I can not say for sure. The third door to my left creeps me out. It has no window and I see no need for two extra doors. Seems like overkill if you ask me. The thought of people coming in at me from all sides makes me uneasy. Last night it felt like they all piled in through the open door but on reflection it's plausible they used the other two as well. I was just too overwhelmed and hysterical to notice at the time. Spurred on by a fresh bout of paranoia I decide to leave my roomy cell and do a bit of reconnaissance. I stand in the bright doorway. There is a door to a cell just like mine to my right. Directly across and to the left a bit is the shower room where the creepy guy was. Beyond my tiny bright hallway the empty main thoroughfare is dull in comparison. Dim white search lighting lights up the corridor intermittently. It must still be late at night or early morning. Emboldened by the lack of foot traffic I walk to the edge of my hallway and survey the nurses station on my left. One male nurse is sitting at the computer. He doesn't look up. To my right all the bedroom doors are closed, silence reigns. I decide that's enough exploring for one night. Stifling a yawn I return to the cot in my cell and quickly descend into blissful darkness. *tired of writing but she goes on to wake up (in a mental institution) and is basically forced to have a day to herself for some intense reflection* -------------------------------------------- Edited for FINAL short story submission into GlimmerTrain  on 4/20/2019----------------- Companion piece to
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