Camera.

I know its dimensions: ten paces long and twelve wide. I know the smell of bed linen and water spouting from a watering can fixed in the wall, mirror glass and the walls themselves. Sometimes, I smell coffee and faint scents of perfume from the doctors that visit me. The most disgusting are the smell of sweat and dirty things. I had never noticed such a sensitivity to smells before.

This is not a Resident Evil movie with its bright white chamber.

Not now that they've stopped examining me, pinning me to the table like I'm some weird butterfly in an entomologist's scrapbook.

They dimmed the lights and took...