by Lindy
The lights were high in the ceiling and glared down constantly on her. She slept now hunched over, an arm automatically protecting her eyesfrom the piercing glare. She no longer cared that there was nowhere to hide.
She had a vague memory of a time before, hating this inescapable unending glare which fixed her mercilessly, grinding into her skull until she screamed with frustration and misery, yelling, screaming at somebody or something she could not see.
She remembered the woman standing over her.
"What do you want most of all, Susan?" she had asked, speaking aloud instead of commanding in her mind as she had done for so long.
She remembered how she had resisted the mind contact, throwing herself about the cell and screaming herself hoarse. None of it had done any good; the voice simply continued, calmly, insistently, taking no notice of her protests. She had gradually ceased to resist, hating herself for not fighting it. Now it was simply part of her existence; she had no will left to fight.
Mostly she saw only what the woman chose to show her, pictures of her own degradation. She saw herself crouching in a corner, her head buried in her arms, crying. She saw herself raise her head in response to the question.
"...The lights... please... turn off the lights..."
She saw blackness for a second, heard her own grateful sigh of relief. Then the scene was back in sharp contrast. She saw herself fall against the wall in despair, heard a bubbling laugh...
She could piece together distorted fragments of memory about things that had happened to her but nothing was clear any more. Occasionally they would ask her if she remembered a time before and she would think carefully, desperate not to anger them but not sure if it was a trick question. She told them truthfully ...no... and they would laugh, pleased, asking her questions about places and people she did not know.
She could not remember a time before she was here. Perhaps she had always been here, maybe there was no other world beyond the walls and cold rooms.
Her existence was a simple one, made bearable by her developed ability to stop wanting or desiring. Now she understood that her life was not her own, that she had no right to resent the constant invasions and indignities, they became a lot easier to bear. She understood that her life was one of pain and torment, she accepted and did not question it. She survived the horrors she encountered by switching off, drifting deeper into her own mind.
She had lost the ability to judge time. She had no idea if she was left for hous or days in between tests, or indeed if there was any regular routine at all. There were times when they came to her as she lay in a haze of pain and she knew she hated these visits more than the experiments they performed on her. They came to her cell and tormented her in a casual, off hand way. She was dully wounded by their cruelty, saddened by their constant mockey and jeers. The only good thing about these visits was that the lights were always dimmed to a bearable level.
She did not understand why they seemed to enjoy hurting her so much. She was always dumbly obedient, never meeting their eyes, speaking only when directly addressed. She tried her best to appear humble and quiet, but they always liked to hurt her, to make her bleed and sometimes cry. She clung to them as all she knew in a sea of loneliness. She tried so desperately hard to please them, accepting and not resisting the constant physical and mental torment. They were her world.
Though she did not want or care, she was filled with a constant ache and longing. If she could have put it into words she would have said that she wanted only for them to care for her and to stop hurting her.
She knew there were others here beside herself. Sometimes she heard the screams and wondered idly if these people could hear her when it was she who cried out. Other times they sent images of what they had done into her mind. She had cried, tried to escape the pictures of people writhng on the floor, mumbling in a way that was less than human. She saw blood escaping from ears, from eyes.
She felt numb as she remembered, casting back through her pathetic collection of memories for something that made sense. She knew they were here, could sense the malignant presence before her. She remained motionless, sitting on the cot in her cell, her head bowed. The expected order came, cutting, quiet.
"Get up"
She obeyed quickly. She knew what they were here for, but still hoped childishly, pathetically, that they would not hurt her.
"How do you feel, Susan?"
Susan. She often called her that. She didn't know if it was her name, or something she had made up to confuse her. The man usually called her "Ms Ivanova", another name that meant nothing to her. Occasionally he would address her as "Commander", which they both seemed to find very funny.
She usually stood silent at times like this, trying to blank her mind. Independent thought and opinion angered them. She swallowed once or twice, her eyes flickering from one to the other, never meeting their eyes. What to answer? She far preferred commands and orders, she didn't have to think, just obey.
"I'm... I'm o... okay..." she whispered eventually, trembling.
The blonde woman stepped forwards carefully, stroking her face. She shivered, knowing the touch of those hands could change from a caress to a blow in an instant. Now the man laughed, a cold, calculating sound. He stepped forwards, very close to her.
"Oh, my dear Commander, if you could only see yourself"
She cringed involuntarily away from his sadistic face, seeing but not really trying to evade his hand which gripped her wrist. She was weak, vulnerable, already hurting inside and out. He smiled into her face as he twisted her wrist sickeningly, watching her pale face contort slightly with the pain. He increased the pressure and heard her give a small sound deep in her throat, something between a moan and a sob.
She tried to bear the pain, knowing there would be worse to come. Though she tried to blank all her feelings, the raw intensity of the constant agony always got through. The pain, pain, always the pain... From her lowered eyes she could see the woman advancing upon her...
*
She lay on her cot, not bothering to shield her face from the light. She was filled with total despair. There was no point. There had never been any point. There had never been anything, anything but this.