A Stressful Situation

A piece I wrote for my English coursework, the title of which was given to us. I rather liked it at the time. Now I'd like some crit on how to improve it, though.

The achromatic walls of the room closed in around her. There was a single window in the room, a large dazzling square of early sunlight that heated the room and made it unbearable. There was no decoration in the room, no furniture save for a small white bed underneath the excruciating blaze of heat and light.

She had been in the room for uncountable minutes, hours even, the only marker of time the tortoise-like plodding of the light across the disinfected walls. Every so often, the immaculate white door would squeak open and another sterilized individual would enter with the tray, offering hollow words of greeting, asking what the weather was like despite the obvious blinding sunshine. They waited for a moment in silence and then left the room again in haste, leaving the tray in the middle of the floor.

She herself sat huddled in the corner to allow her to watch the walls, to be alert the moment they began to move again. They did this periodically. Rather curiously, they stopped as soon as the sterilized ones came. But none stayed for long, and the room would soon start its assault again. It closed in from the far end, so she huddled in her corner where it could not reach her. Before, she had crawled over to the tray for the watery nutrition, but the walls had advanced towards her, and she had narrowly escaped.

Confined to the distant reaches of the room, she dared not even extend her hand to get the tray. Instead, the watered down concoction of thin soup and something else – a sweet, bitter taste she had never quite been able to place – waited patiently on the floor a few metres away from her, until the other sterilized one, who came only when the blinding light had faded, arrived and bravely bent down to push the tray closer towards her.

Unlike the others, he did not leave, or make meaningless small talk. He would sit next to her in the corner (not too close, but far enough away from the far walls at least to be safe) and be silent with her, which meant much more. It was better when the light had faded, and the floor was cooler beneath her hands, softer somehow.

Even the last sterilized one left in the end, leaving her alone once more in the room with angry walls. The uncontrollable fury that leapt up when concentration broke, stung her, hurt her, and left her in terror, haunted her nightmares and forced her awake. But even nightmares slept in the end, leaving her for a moment, allowing her to rock herself gently back and forth until she knew no more of the walls and their horrific activities. And then the blinding light would start once more.

The End

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