Walls

Walls.. should be hard, rough to the touch. Not soft and smooth, like the walls that surrounded her were.

She didn't know why she was in this place. Or who had brought her here. Or why. She knew nothing about nothing, and that was everything she knew. That was probably why she couldn't think properly.

She laid down on the floor, noticing that it was comfortable enough to pass as a mattress. When it should have been cold and uncomfortable. She sat up, disturbed by this odd comfortability that was everywhere, looking around her. All she could see was plain, bright whiteness. No other colours. She looked down at herself, seeing that she was dressed in dazzling white gown, that her skin was as pale as milk. Her nails, cut short, were painted white as well. She didn't have any hair, not even eyelashes or eyebrows. There were no mirrors to see her eyes from. Her veins could be seen from under her skin, but only as thin, colourless lines. She wasn't sure if it was because her skin had been painted too or if there wasn't any blood to run in them.

It was making her crazy. This whiteness. This softness. This silence. Yes silence too since she hadn't heard her own voice when she had shrieked. She wanted to change it all, shatter this choking silence, hit herself against something hard, taint that whiteness with the bright red of her own blood. But she couldn't. You couldn't hurt yourself in a padded cell. You couldn't draw blood with no sharp things around. You couldn't get your voice heard in a soundproof room.

And when insane, it's hard to know what's really happening around you.