It was white. Everywhere he looked, he saw white. He hated white. It was too bright, too clean, and too pure... He wanted darkness. Darkness gave cover, protection, and pretense. He liked to hide. There was no pain when you were hidden. If no one could see you, no one could hurt you.

They were putting him onto a bed. It wasn't a comfortable bed; it was a slab of metal covered by a thin, white sheet. He felt his wrists being tied to the metal with thick leather straps. They itched and chaffed his skin. He hated this.

A woman dressed in white was preparing one of those things. He didn't know what it was called, but it was small, glass, and filled with some sort of liquid. She flicked it and pushed the bottom up so the liquid flew out of the pointy end a little. He knew what happened next.

He tried to get away, but it didn't work; he was tied down too tightly. She was going to do it. A mantra started in his mind, 'don't do it don't do it don't do it!' but she did it. The pointy part entered his arm and she emptied the liquid into him. He screamed. It hurt, it burned. He felt like his whole body had burst into flames.

Everything went black; his sanctuary came to him in a rush. He would wake up in a dirty room that he called home. He could never leave that room because there were bars over the door. It was cold and the bed was uncomfortable, but he didn't consciously know that. He'd never known any better. The pain would fade and he would have a day of rest then it would start all over again. This was all he'd ever known.

 

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