The smell of iron lingers through the hallways like a stray lingering through alleys, floating in the white abyss.

The hallway had many doors, it had many green doors, professionally painted and professionally sustained.

Door A-24 hosted a man who seem to be glued to his bed in an upright position. His face was unrecognizable, abstract almost – next to him was a cup of orange juice and several white capsules. His eyes and mouth much like him to the bed were glued shut. His face looked like roadkill, his jaw bent the other way whilst his eyes started to twitch – he could not open them. Yet, he insisted to look around. Invisible paintings of people frozen hanging like suspended mannequins, the flickering of lights, the crack in the white walls and the sound of beeping bounced around the room. The room was clean, fixed, white but broken – the room had seemed to be used daily, he was not the first host. The only breaths he could take were short and outlived and the thoughts he had were drowned in the sharp searing pain in his left knee. After several moments of him attempting to think, he begins to hear a slight faint voice coming from outside the room, he begins to breathe more heavily, palms sweating, the bed shaking and impending spill of the cup. Who could it be?

Walk. Walk. Stop. Walk. Walk. Stop.

Heavy footsteps are heard, becoming louder and louder as they approach. The broken man attempted to mumble words but instead were processed to be thoughts;

‘H-hello?, don’t hurt me.’

The footsteps increased and by the time it stopped, IT was right next to him. It became a woman, blonde hair, haggard face, heavy eyes; this ‘It’ was not a threat and had not slept in days. She places her hand onto his cracked face, he begins to scream; her hands were cold and stiff. He winces as she grabs him tighter, the unimaginable pain that he is feeling is engulfed by the situation. In his black eyes the room began to change in to a more bleak environment, the walls darkened, the cup that was there vanished and the inescapable feeling of end was felt. More footsteps are heard, this time they accumulate like packs of wolves.

‘Ma’am, get off him. He’s been through alot’

The crippled and crumbled man laid there and began to speak (after several attempts of trying to communicate).

‘I d-don’t k-know her!’

He began to rock back and forth to shake her off him, he screams in pain, his tears hurt and so did the girl. The man who had entered the room carried 4-inch needles, ready to subdue any animal bigger than a bear or an average man. The needles in his heavy eyes were spears, the men hunters and he became the hunted.

They pierce him. For a few minutes it was nothing but silence, regret and dead. The woman was gone, so we’re the men; the broken and crumbled man laid there as he had always did –  still, silent and frozen like a mannequin. His arms no longer suspended, his face plastic and blank and pale and clear and  smooth, his face no longer bent, his eyes no longer twitching. The room no longer white, but jet black, in front of him was not a door but a glass window.

He was being observed.