[Monologue] Too Much of a Bad Thing

White.  White walls, white floor, white ceiling.  The blazing florescent lights are blinding and tiring.1

They take us to the rooms in groups, but even clustered together the achromatic space will make you feel isolated.  It's like a headache that surrounds you inside and out.  We never do anything constructive.  Stupid little crafts to keep our hands and ourselves busy and out of the way of diversions.2

I've seen people come and go.  Victims of trauma, substance abuse, and others just born destructive.  They all try to escape at some point.  The first time you attempt leaving, they'll catch you before you get out of the locked rooms, then keep a closer watch on you after that.  The second time they'll move you to a higher secured area, then it's impossible to try again.3

I thought observing would give me enough information to get out without being seen.  I planned for weeks after watching for months.  They'll start slacking off around 12.  You can smell the caffeine from under the cracks of the doors.  It was enough to drive anyone up the wall.  The lights in our room go off, and still the walls stay white and blinding.  No one pays attention after that, you can hear the sounds of the TV, or the scratches of pen on paperwork.4

The day I broke out, I made it past the locked doors and out of the first corridor; but I didn't expect dogs to be waiting outside the door to the next sector of the building.  Nor did I expect the complete darkness of the air to envelope the white walls.  5

Now everything's whiter than before, I'm wrapped in white, above white, under white.  I guess they forgot that claustrophobia put me here in the first place.6