Blank I awaken. My head is throbbing, but I don't know why. I'm sitting in a cell, approximately six by eight. There are no doors and no windows. I'm not sure where the light is coming from; it's just there. I'm surrounded by nondescript walls as high as I can see. Everything is white. The purity of my prison is a perfect foil to my life before imprisonment. A calming peace of mind washes over me and I barely notice the annoying curve of a trickle of sweat as it arcs down my neck. How long has it been? Weeks? Months? Years? For some odd reason, myBlank
Abstract art
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Arden Ellen Nixon
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