Time: Who knows
Subject ID: 47B
They say you can get used to anything if you're locked up long enough. Cold food. Cold looks. That crawl up your spine when you know you're being watched but can't prove it.
But this place?
You don't get used to anything in here.
It shifts. Quietly. You blink, and the shadows are wrong. You sleep and the cot's harder. Or softer. Or gone.
I quit asking questions the first week. Or what I think was a week. Time here folds in on itself. Doubles back. Slips sideways.
Then they gave me a roommate.
He came in like a newborn deer—wide eyes, stiff spine, trying to fake calm. Buzzing inside. That I-don't-belong-here static.
Fresh meat always thinks the system screwed up.
It didn't.
Never does.
Said his name was Jonah.
Didn't ring a bell. That helped. I hate it when I know people from before.
He shut up quick after that. Parked himself on the cot and stared into nowhere. Like he was trying to remember where he parked his life.
I got it.
They'd already started playing with my head. Started with photos.
Woke up one day, and there it was—taped to the wall. Blurry. Faded. A woman holding a baby. She smiled like she knew me. Like she loved me.
Problem was—I didn't know her.
Not at first.
But I kept looking. And then I did.
Her name was Mia. The kid was Caleb. My wife. My son.
No wedding in my head. No hospital. But I could feel his weight in my arms. Smell lavender in her hair.
Asked Jonah if he saw the photo.
He said there was nothing there.
I ripped it down. Hid it in my boot. If I can't touch it, I don't trust it. And even then, I barely do.
This morning, I wake up to Jonah whispering to himself. Something about journalism. An article. Then—nothing. Just blank.
Like someone yanked the memory out of him mid-sentence.
He looked at me like I had the answers.
Thing is—people treat you like a guru just because you've been here longer. Like time makes you smart.
It doesn't.
Just makes you tired.
So I told him the truth.
"They get in your head," I said. "First the small stuff. Then everything."
Saw it hit him. Hard.
And that's when I knew—he won't last.
He's not made for this. Thinks if he just remembers hard enough, the truth'll bust through the wall and save him.
He hasn't figured it out yet.
There is no outside.
Just the hum. The lights. The voice.
And whatever comes next.