I start to see this room as more than the wall that contains me. I see the cot in the corner with sheets, blankets, and a pillow. I have lain on it many, many hours, but now I see it is here for a reason—as the result of planning.
The medical bed with restraints and the apparatus to deliver medication is also here because someone planned for my tenancy.
I see that there are benches set into the walls on two sides of the room, with sinks and cabinets in them. These are now empty. I find, however, that there are books on some of the shelves—textbooks, reference works, writings on cells, genetics, the mechanics of life. When I page through these I almost feel the wonder of discovering a new world, as Adam and Eve might have felt. But I also remember all of this from the past before the commune.
I remember because this is my lab. I had the bed placed here. I have read all these books before. I know the people who come to me in their protective suits. They were once my life.
I am my own torturer. The me from the past leans over and cinches the bonds tight to keep me here—for reasons that once were my own.