I went outside for exercise as usual. We were granted two hours a day outside for exercise. Although I tended to stick to the gym. Then the emotionless guards would take use back to the 'rehabilitation rooms'. Cells were their real name. However in this place you yearned for one night in a normal prison cell.
There was a proper prison, also run by the same association, the Russian Law Enforcement, about a 1 hour drive away. The closest thing in hundreds of miles. The cook told me that. The cooks a prisoner. He's been here for 30 years. When he was 40, he raped and murdered a teenage girl, probably about my age. It saddened me though. He was a monster. All humans are. But he was 70. He didn't have long left and the wrinkles grew across his face, and the arthritis created even more pain for his ice cold bones. And yet he will never get out of this vindictive swarm of pines. Everyone in here Is here for life.
He took pity on me. The Russian government stopped placing prisoners here 18 years ago. It was supposed to be a male prison for murders. So I, a teenage girl, was placed in here.
It had to be here.
The government are treating me as an experiment. Not the Russians government. The world's.
Every day I go into the physiological part of the infirmary. It's down 72 concrete steps. The water drips from the pipes and the chance of freedom drains even more.
They've give me tests. They take ECG' s . They stick little wires to my brain and body and do tests. Some of the tests are torture. Placing me in a glass cabinet that's slowly filling with ice cold water, letting a poisonous snake in a sack with me for 48 hours, and hanging me upside down by my ankles as they cut skin with a shaving blade are all common methods of interrogation. However some are less brutal.
I walked down the solid, grey stairs. Trying to breathe as silently as my lungs allowed. The cold guns jabbed both of my side's. It normally took four armed men to escort me down to hell. However today, there was a 'special project'. That's all I'd been told. So I had 6 armed men. None of them looked me in the eye.
To tell the truth, today felt a little different. Apprehension drifted with the dust particles.
And somehow the silence felt more like a superpower than an absence of sound.
The steps ended. My breath stopped completely. I stared at the corridor that lay in front of me. There were 9 rooms out of 23 that I had been 'treated' in.
Being down here always tore me apart with dread. However, the pain had stopped hurting as much, the fear excited me, the chance of death sounded like a good opportunity. It woke my demon. I guess I was a demon after what I did. They still haven't told me.
I don't know what i did to be here. I woke up in a dingy British backstreet. Before I knew it a whole swat team had corned me. They shot me with tranquilizer. When I came round, I was here, and also on a high dosage of morphine. To tell the truth, I'm an addict. Although it silenced my demon, my demon is telepathic. It's not as strong as it was in those few seconds of freedom I can remember, but it's still there.
I exhaled.
My and the guards footsteps sang to me like the beginning of a theme tune of a tv show.
The door clicked open.
It revealed a room so white and clean it hurt my eyes. Gleaming with new, shiny equipment. A startling contrast to the rest of the "correction facility".
There was a spherical glass coffin, clearly the centrepiece, in the middle of room. Surrounding it was modern ECG machines and various other medical tools and clipboards.
A grey haired old man and a young woman with blonde hair in a tight bun sat on lab stools in long white coats. "Ahh, our first patient!" The old man said, he extended his arm to meet mine "Nice to meet you, Amelia Pond."
