Chapter 1: ‘The White Room’

White. I rouse to white. Every morning, every night. I yearn for the light piercing my eyes, the way the windows glistened from the morning dew but most of all I crave the feeling. The feeling I earned from a big night out, the amusement gained from every photo capturing a moment of euphoria. I miss my friends.

Waking up in a haze, a small leak in my room causes an endless cycle of rhythms giving me a headache. Reaching for my water I gulp it down faster than my throat can take, the cold affection almost gives me peace. My bed groans ever so slightly as I place my right foot onto the concrete floor radiating its numbing pain onto my skin. As I lean towards the door I miss the handle, hurling my body across the room to only meet the ground at an intimate level. The intimacy I used to feel from my boyfriend, the intimacy from my mum. Feeling my mind drift again I stand up in a rush and run out the door. I couldn’t tell you why I run to breakfast each morning, I don’t know what I’m running from, maybe my room, the white, the emptiness. I get to the line at the same time as a boy. I’ve seen him around before, I admire the way he walks, the way he keeps his head at level with the windows but most of all I admire the way he follows the rules. Standing only two feet in front of me he acknowledges me by a simple nod. Each time the line shuffles forward, a convulsion in my leg strikes me off balance. After the hands of the clock run circles around me, I find myself stationed in front of one of the bureaucratic ministers. “Open,” she says as if I wouldn’t know so myself. My mouth widens with ease and two small pills rest on the top of my tongue. I can’t help but cringe at the taste. Walking back towards my room is the most dreaded part of the day. Not because of the white anymore but because of the window. The window that sits their like its waiting patiently for its next victim. I can’t help but take a glimpse of what my life used to be like. I gaze at the streets I used to stroll down, the corner shop that was never missed on a morning stroll. And there it is, my home. My city, my school, my life. A singular tear wells in my left eye taking me by surprise. Emotions like that can end you up in cleansing. Every day I find myself wondering what my life would be like if climate change didn’t destroy our planet. If the bureaucratic ministry didn’t take over our city, our lives. My thoughts are interrupted by a siren, the blaring ring oscillates the walls of the edifice as I struggle to keep my balance. We hear this siren a few times a day, it doesn’t scare me now as it used to when I first witnessed a person jump. I remember the thud of their limp body hitting the ground on impact, the screams of the people from below. The bureaucratic ministry always tries to cover these things up, it’s only a matter of time until that’s me.

The afternoon sun watches down on me engrossed as I endure my last meal of the day. My belly has never felt full since we left the city but complaining is too much energy for me to muster. After dinner I saunter down the white vestibule towards my room, it isn’t my room, but in these times I will take what I can. This day my eyes don’t deviate, my hands don’t touch, my thoughts don’t dominate. I am inanimate. Strolling, unrushed towards the door I extend my arm to the knob but I am stopped by a sight I never hoped to see. It’s open. I knew I closed it before dinner. My heart begins to pulsate, my legs too stiff to move. The sweat locked in my palm begins to drip out onto the flooring. Without warning the entrance swings wide open. I am knocked back, only saved by the walls encompassing me. And there she was, sitting on my fabric like it was her room, her home, her property. I stumble my words but the only thing to come out was a strained note of fear. The room seems whiter than usual, the walls feel closer to my skin. The brown-haired girl without making eye contact speaks. I never knew we were allowed to speak to one another, it was of course prohibited in the atrium. “What are you doing standing their like that, we don’t have much time”. I raise my eyebrows as if she knew who she was talking to. “Sorry?” I muster out of my throat. “The ministry doesn’t take long to eat, hurry up or we will be dog food.” She speaks in such confidence. I imagine her on top of a pedestal singing to a crowd of protestors, being the leading voice, the hope in some fucked up imaginary setting. Without hesitating, she grabs me by the hand leading me down a vestibule of anticipation. I follow. I don’t know what else to do. We walk with momentum towards an entrance I have never distinguished before. They all tend to look the same after a period of time. Without opening she rotates her slender body to face mine, our noses brush up against one another. “Sorry, how rude of me, I should introduce myself. I’m Beth”.