Waiting

Sitting here. All is quiet.

Too quiet.

"…"

I survey my surroundings through a mask of indifference. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. White clock. The clock I have been watching for a long, long time now, waiting for something. What am I waiting for?

            Freedom.

            Yes. Freedom – to be rid of this wretched place of interrogation, prodding me for my deepest secrets and intentions –

            I'll never tell.

            Yes. They'll never know. I'll never tell them. They will pay for their pitiful attempts.

            Everyone will suffer.

            Yes. They will. But I can't help but contemplate something…

            "You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"

            "But I do, and I'm sorry," I say sincerely. "But it WON'T STOP."

            Yes. It will never stop. I know it's wrong, I know I am a bad girl. That's why daddy makes me stay in this place…this place of cold isolation. It's like a face of apathy staring at you through these walls, eyes emotionless. An aura of hostility engulfs everything. There is no way of escape. The coldness chokes all hope from you; all sense of righteousness.

            "Well, that's why you're here," his hideous voice rings out. "So we can help make it stop."

            I told him that it would never stop.

            Never

"He's going to leave me here," I realize slowly.

            Yes. Daddy will leave me here; mommy wasn't supposed to have me, he says. I'm a burden, he says.

DIE

PAIN

SUFFER

AGONY

Yes. I'll be here forever. Until daddy gets rid of me…

ANGUISH

TORTURE

MISERY

KILL!

For good.