She sat there, her tongue lightly stroking her lips in the hopes that the saliva's moisture would reduce the the chapping. Elbow on the table, hand on cheek, eyes drooping, she stared at the shadows of the world passing by through the window. The retina-scorching white walls of the Room rose to an apex above her head in a sort of modern pyramid, the translucent glass closing the shape. Of course, even when she was not affected by the drugs, she could hardly make out what was happening outside. Strange shapes flew across it, and nothing lingered for more than a few minutes outside the confines of the Room.
It may have been because everyone was afraid of what was within. No one truly knew, but they were told enough to keep them from enquiring. Something horrifying was in it and they had no business knowing. Whenever the girl, in her stolen moments of complete consciousness, thought about it, a muscle near the edges of her mouth twitched. This was especially hard to notice given how paper thin and wrinkled her skin was from the medication injected into her every hour.
Jerking suddenly out of her micro-sleep, the catheter in her thigh twisted, and though the pain was not felt in its entirety, it was rather agonising. Recovering in an instant - this was a regular occurrence for her - she slipped back into the state of inertia.
She did not even know why she was in the Room. They had just collected her a few years ago telling her that she was a threat and had to be taken in for the good of the world. That night, they had kept her in the dark, the cold, the tiny. A voice in the cement walls had told her she was a liability that had to be stopped. A piercing siren had been played the rest of the night, and the next few days, till she could no longer think.
On crept the days which turned to months and continued for ever in a sea of drug-induced inactivity and sleep. But they left the window so the shadows scuttling about would serve as a reminder of why she was there.
