Donna woke up to the sound of the flap opening. She walked over to take her tray, but before she could say a word, the flap slammed shut and she heard the sound of receding footsteps. "That's a pity," she told the lightbulb, looking at her tray. The food was the same as always, and she dug in eagerly.
Since there was no natural light, Donna had no idea what time it was. She doubted she could have fallen asleep around mid-afternoon and then slept through the entire night, and she felt worn out and disoriented, probably from the lack of sunlight as well as sleeping at the wrong time. She finished eating and washed her utensils. Having nothing better to do, she stacked the tray, cup, and spoon in various ways.
First, she balanced the tray on its side, put the cup on top, and the spoon - on top of that. Then, she tried to put the spoon between the cup and the tray. Getting the balance right was tricky, but she did it in the end. Next, she put the cup upside-down, put the handle of the spoon on top, holding it in place with her hand for now, and then held it in place with the tray. Donna admired her work for a few seconds. "I've only been in here for a few hours, and I'm already crazy," she complained to the lightbulb.
What did you expect? she imagined it replying. You don't have any of your books and newspapers with you.
Footsteps in the corridor. Donna stood up, reluctant to destroy her creation, but still handed back the utensils. As before, whoever was taking it away refused to talk to her.
Even though it was probably the same day as before, Donna did her daily workout again. Having nothing better to do, she tried to see how long she could hold a plank for, but her count was definitely off. She then did the same for all the exercises she could think of. Exhausted and sweaty, Donna flopped back down on the mattress. The cell was tiny compared to hers, but it was huge compared to the coffin Slice had described.
"I wonder how Slice is doing," she said. "Do you think she's working as a carpenter right now? I wonder what her parents think." The mattress was uncomfortable, but sitting on top of the blanket made her feel overheated. Donna got up and drank some more water. She walked around the cell, measuring it with her feet. It was soul-crushingly boring. She lay back down. When she opened her eyes, she had no idea if she had fallen asleep or closed them for a second. Still, she got up and did her workout. There was nothing better to do.
Since the warden who brought the food never talked to her, Donna decided to approach the situation differently. When she came around to collect the tray, Donna refused to get up.
"You won't get more food until you hand it back," the warden replied before falling silent again. Donna recognized her as one of the nicer ones. Feeling disappointed at the failure of the plan, she handed back her tray. A better idea was taking shape in her mind. If the cell became dirty, she'd have to be given cleaning supplies, which meant they'd have to talk to her.
The next time she got her tray, she immediately tossed the entire thing at the wall. Instead of reacting, the warden slammed the flap shut and left without even glancing through the peephole, leaving Donna hungry and with food all over her wall. At least now she'd have something to do. She tore off strips of toilet paper and used them to wipe away the food. For a while, she entertained the idea of flushing away all of the paper, but then they'd just toss in more through the flap. No, she needed to approach the situation differently.
She decided to deliberately clog the toilet. They'd have to come in and fix it then. And the best part was that she could use her clothes to do it if they started rationing the toilet paper, meaning that she could do it again and again. What she really wanted to do was chuck the food at the warden, but that would mean emerging to find her outside time cut to an hour of walking around a tree, or something else like that.
"I think this should work," she said, stuffing toilet paper into the bowl. "They can't expect me to fix it myself."
"But what if they try to further punish you?" the lightbulb asked. "You're committing sabotage."
"Don't be silly," Donna replied, pressing the button and watching the water overflow. "They got rid of that." She then pressed the button on the wall, calling the warden over.
Instead of answering, she commed for someone. Donna stood around, waiting.
"Get on your knees facing the corner!" the warden said.
Confused at the warden's abruptness, Donna did as ordered. She stared at the slightly dusty corner, wondering why everyone was being so rude to her all of a sudden. Maybe the directors had cracked down. It was strange that they'd do so after so many years, and stranger yet that the friendly wardens would suddenly be so harsh. Donna then remembered just who she was in prison with, and wondered why she was confused about people in uniform being cruel. She giggled at the thought. They'd be so upset at the comparison.
"What's she laughing about?" an unfamiliar female voice asked in a whisper.
"They start to hallucinate in total solitary," the warden explained, just as quietly. "That's why they try not to send anyone there. It destroys the mind."
The plumber, or whoever it was, continued working in silence. After she was done, the two left. Donna stood up once the door was shut, realizing that she hadn't even gotten a glimpse of the plumber. There was a small puddle on the floor, and only a few squares of toilet paper lay next to the sink. She wondered how long it would take to dry.
"There are varying types of solitary confinement," the lightbulb lectured, "and all of them are restricted in one way or another in the modern penitentiary system in Panem. The lightest one is what you normally live in. It is not officially called solitary confinement, as you have your own cell but are allowed outside for work and exercise. This is generally the treatment given to inmates who, in the administration's opinion, could cause disturbances or be a danger to a cellmate."
Donna knew all of this already, but she still listened carefully. A part of her knew that she was just talking to herself in her own mind, but she didn't care. She didn't want the facade to crack and then be left with only the sound of her own voice. "And us?" she asked.
"You are not in the Panem penitentiary system," the lightbulb said, sounding slightly irritated at having to explain it for the millionth time. "The Federal Department of Corrections has authority over every single penal institution in Panem, except for the prison which you are in."
Since Donna really didn't want to have to listen to a description of the IDC's collapse all over again, she asked the lightbulb to talk about something else. "So the Districts don't make the decisions? Odd." The Districts were all fiercely independent, more so than states or provinces in any other country in the world.
"It's the same as the healthcare and educational systems. They are subject to the same guidelines, but how they interpret them is up to them."
"Interesting. So, what other types of solitary confinement are there?" She draped her blanket over her knees.
"On the next step of severity is a form of solitary confinement where the individual is allowed to work and exercise, but not to interact with other inmates. Usually, they are kept in handcuffs whenever they go exercise, and it happens in a separate area. An individual may only be subject to this for one week at a stretch, but this can be extended indefinitely if they are deemed to be a continuous disturbance, such as a purveyor of smuggled drugs. How harmful this is is debated."
"What's it like in a psychiatric ward? Is it nicer there?" Donna thought of Hryb's eccentric insubordination. If he had become violent instead, what would the administration have done?
"After the reforms, it has indeed become a much nicer place. The staff are all very professional and correct. Individuals who have spent time in both regular and prison psychiatric facilities say that the only difference is that in prison, you're not rewarded for good behaviour by being allowed to go to the store yourself."
Donna giggled. "Yeah, that makes sense." She pulled the blanket over her chest. "I wish I was in a normal prison," she sighed. "Then, nobody would be tossing me into total solitary. Is this the worst thing they have?"
"The worst thing they had," the lightbulb corrected her, "and no, it isn't. Let's not skip ahead, though. There used to also be a form of solitary confinement where the individual was only allowed outside for an hour a day, but they were able to watch television. They only got rid of it a few years back, citing concerns that not being able to work might hamper the individual's ability to live independently when they were released, especially as this punishment could be imposed indefinitely."
Even that sounded much better than this. She missed seeing the sun and feeling the wind and talking with the others and eating the food. Ever since the incident with the thrown tray, all she got was a nutrient bar passed directly into her hand. She had no idea how much time had passed since then. For all she knew, she had been in here forever. "So, what's worse than this?" she asked.
"The other cells on this floor, and their equivalents in other facilities. I'm sure Irma Slice explained it to you."
Donna didn't want to think about that. "It's not fair that we slipped through the cracks like this," she said. "They can do whatever they want to us."
The lightbulb chuckled. "People always slipped through the cracks. It was just never those like you."
"Still doesn't seem fair," Donna whined. "I'm the only person in the entire country who's sitting in a stupid little cell talking to a lightbulb!"
"You think you're being mistreated?"
Donna sighed. "By being locked up in here? Yes. But nobody cares about me." Seized with a sudden impulse, Donna signed "It's not like anyone will want to stick up for someone with my rap sheet." She had read somewhere that deaf people hallucinated signing hands.
"What about the revanchists?" the lightbulb asked verbally. Maybe it only worked for people who were actually deaf. "And your family?"
Revanchists terrified her and she had disappointed her family. "I don't want to talk about that. Tell me more about prison back then."
"Very well, but we will come back to this." Donna smiled. It's like she had Dr. Chu in her cell constantly with her. "Now, did you know that before, individuals being held in minimum security had to live in a giant room full of bunk beds?"
"Of course I do," Donna replied. "I watched movies about it and stuff. Looked terrible. Why did they get rid of it? More humanitarianism?"
"No, practicality. Once they banned guards from beating inmates left and right and carrying weapons around, they decided that a hundred stressed people in one room is a bit much. Plus, having your own space to take care of builds self-discipline, or so they say. It's four to a cell maximum."
Donna remembered Warden Vance and his obsessive inspections. She had never been as good as the former Peacekeepers, but he had never complained. "I think that it just reveals who's neat and who's messy," she said. "And who jumps around, eager to please the authorities." Four to a cell - she couldn't imagine sharing a space with the other women, they'd have killed each other in the first month. Maybe the system needed further reform.
"Technically speaking," the lightbulb said, "you are as insubordinate as any of them. You're here, after all. And you really shouldn't use the insults people fling at you to refer to yourself."
"I guess. Tell me about what it was like to be an inmate back then." Donna realized that she was commanding the lightbulb. "I'm sorry," she said, shame-facedly. "I didn't mean to demand." No, she had meant it, otherwise she wouldn't have said it. "I mean, I'm sorry for demanding you say this or that. I should be polite. Could you please tell me about what it was like to be an inmate back then?"
"Apology accepted." Donna still felt bad, shame writhing around her chest like a bunch of snakes. "Back then, life was quite bad. Cruel guards, bad food, healthcare had to be paid for, no entertainment other than television and maybe some board games, and fourteen-hour work days for no pay."
"Typical," Donna said cynically. "What about that stuff with the IGR?"
"That happened to lifers who were never visited. They would be told they were being transferred and would end up tied to a table and bleeding out as a technician held a stopwatch. Nobody ever raised a fuss about it. Since it only happened to those who had nobody who cared about them, no concrete details came to light until the trial."
"Cotillion was spitting mad," Donna remembered. "First the eyeless youth, then the technician, and then so many horrors, everyone gave up on feeling."
"Now," the lightbulb said, "let's get back to what we were talking about before. The revanchists and your family."
Donna sighed. "The revanchists need to read the trial transcripts and use their brains for once in their lives, and I can't imagine coming home to my family."
"You think the average revanchist can get through the transcript? And, more importantly, do you really think they care about logic?" Donna shrugged. She didn't want to think about revanchism. "As for your family, do you realize just how rare and precious of a thing you have? For sixteen years now, they have visited you, written to you. Even your youngest think of you as their mother."
"What kind of a parent am I, locked up in here? I know nothing about my children. I don't know what they're doing right now. I don't know their hobbies or their favourite foods. My granddaughter is four and a half years old!" Donna realized she was shouting. "I went in when Donna was eleven, and I'll leave when her daughter is fourteen years old," she whispered. "I'll never get to hold her. I'll be a strange old woman to her."
Suddenly, Donna saw herself as she looked like to the warden when she looked through the peephole. She saw a small figure sitting on a dirty mattress. The figure was completely grey. Even her skin was grey from a lack of sunlight, or maybe it was just the bad lighting. Donna felt bad at thinking badly about the lightbulb, but she did look rather unhealthy. Her hair was growing out, and strands were sticking out all over the place. Donna tucked them under her cap. She looked like the convict she was.
"I'm having an out-of-body experience," she realized. "At least it's not visual hallucinations. I don't know what I'd do if Snow showed up." She laughed at the thought.
"And what do you see?"
"Draw me in black and white, and you'll get one of those sketches we were shown during the trial," Donna said bitterly. "Why do they keep on calling us by our numbers? It's like I don't have a name. And what's with these old uniforms? It's like they're rubbing it in on purpose!"
"You do have a name. It's Female Nine."
"Yeah, well, fuck you," Donna snapped, lying down and pulling the blanket over herself. "You're just a voice I'm hallucinating."
The lightbulb sighed. "I'm sorry you feel so poorly," it said. "This is terrible."
"Yeah," Donna muttered.
Giggling to herself, Donna pressed the button and then lay down and pretended to be asleep. As footsteps got closer in the corridor, she carefully smoothed out her face and pretended to be asleep. The light in her cell never went off.
"Up!" the warden demanded. "Listen carefully, Female Nine. If you keep this up for long enough, I will give up. And then, if something happens, I won't show up." With those words, she marched away. As soon as the footsteps faded, Donna pressed the button again. And again. And again. She was bored and couldn't sleep, and this was better than discussing Brack's clumsy defense and how skillfully Ledge had blamed everything on Dijksterhuis without actually naming her for the tenth time with the lightbulb.
The warden kept on showing up. After five more times, she dragged over her chair. "Dammit," Donna whispered. "This takes all the fun out of it." At least making sure the warden was awake was just as fun. She fell asleep eventually, and dreamt that she was lying in a field with Dem.
In the dream, they were sitting on the grass, and the sun was brightly shining. She leaned over to kiss him, but all of a sudden the director from Three was there. They got up and went into a forest, but just as they started to undress, the director from Six materialized. That repeated several more times. Donna woke up just as they had been about to actually have sex.
"Alright," she whispered, "that's just not fair."
"Use your imagination," the lightbulb said with a giggle. "After all, it's not like you have a shortage of things to imagine."
Snores coming from the corridor, the reason she had woken up, assured Donna that the warden was still asleep. That meant she wouldn't have to stay completely motionless. She imagined her husband as he had looked the last time she had seen him. Then, she imagined kissing him, caressing his bare shoulders. Donna put a hand between her legs as she imagined him touching her. She tried to remember the feel of his strong hands, the warmth of his body, but she wasn't sure if that was a real memory or a figment of her imagination.
Donna had no idea how much time she had spent in that cell. She was beginning to feel sick from eating nothing but nutrient bars all the time, her insides cramping up constantly. When she had been put on nutrient bars for two weeks, sympathetic guards had passed on real food to her, but now she was stuck with nothing but three small bars a day that were almost completely absorbed by her body.
"They really should add some fibre to these," she grumbled as she sat down on the mattress. "At this rate, I'll get toxic megacolon and die."
"You're not going to die," the lightbulb said. "If you've been in here long enough to get sick from the nutrient bars, you should be well into your stay."
Donna rubbed her neck, feeling the dirt come off. She kept on forgetting to wash herself, and besides, she didn't have the energy.
"You're dirty," the lightbulb said, as if on cue. "Why don't you wash yourself? You'll feel better."
"My clothes are dirty, too. And I don't feel well. I don't want to stand up."
"You haven't been exercising," the lightbulb said, concerned. "Of course you're tired. You need to move. Don't you remember how much you like to run?"
Donna nodded. "But there's nowhere to run." She had tried running on the spot, but it had made her ankles hurt.
"In more ways than one, too." Donna smiled at that. It was nice that her hallucination shared the same sense of humour as her.
"And what was the point of that?" the lightbulb asked.
Donna wiped her mouth, shaking. She had just drunk a huge amount of water until it made her throw up. "I'm not sure."
"You know, I'm here for you," the lightbulb said in a kindly voice. "You don't have to hurt yourself from boredom. You could always talk to me."
Donna sat down and wrapped herself in her blanket. Her bra and shirt were lying in a corner. The plan had been to wash the shirt, but she had run out of energy as soon as she put it under the tap. Too late, she realized that she should have been washing her clothes all along. Now she didn't have the motivation.
It was strange that she didn't have the motivation to wash herself, but she did have the motivation to see how much water she could drink before she threw up. "Am I being self-destructive?" she asked, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She scratched her head, which was feeling oily. Her hair was also growing out all over the place. She had to brush it away from her eyes.
"Yes," the lightbulb said. "If this incident becomes a pattern, it will be considered self-harm."
Donna leaned back against the wall. "I'm not going to keep it up once they let me out of here, though. I'm just bored."
"Then why not work out? You did it every day before."
Donna shrugged.
"Come on. You need an hour of physical activity a day. Get that heart rate up."
"I get my heart rate up often enough."
The lightbulb rolled their eyes. "Masturbation doesn't count. I didn't know you had such a high sex drive. Your poor husband won't know what hit him."
"I don't," she said. "I'm just bored."
"Then why not do some push-ups? Or at least jumping jacks."
"I don't want to."
"But you do want to induce vomiting."
"I'm bored." She stretched out her socked feet. Her shoes had been confiscated after she had tried to throw one at the warden. "Could you please tell me a story?"
"A story about what?"
"About prison."
"Again?" the lightbulb sighed. "This, too, is self-harm, just of the psychological variety."
"It's educational," Donna insisted.
"You do understand that I can't tell you anything you don't already know."
Donna shrugged. "It's still nice to have it put into a compact lecture." She lay down on her back, hands under her head. "Could you please tell me about the psychological impact of solitary confinement?"
The lightbulb sighed. "Solitary confinement is classified as a form of psychological torture," it began. "Individuals subjected to it often end up suffering from various psychological and physiological ailments, such as hypersensitivity, hallucinations, anxiety, depression, insomnia, appetite loss, heart palpitations, and various forms of self-harm, among many others."
"Alright," Donna said. "I've got hallucinations, depression, insomnia, appetite loss, and self-harm covered. Maybe hypersensitivity, too. There's nothing to sense here." Everything was the exact same uniform grey, the food had no taste whatsoever, and the only sounds were the occasional footsteps. None of the wardens snored, not since Donna had cussed one of them out for not letting her sleep. "You think if I bit through my wrists, they'd let me out?"
"You want to spend months in the infirmary under constant watch?"
The lightbulb was, as always, right. "Fine," she huffed. "I'll just lie around here and do nothing."
"I'm confused," Donna said, wiping tears from her eyes. "When are they going to let me out?"
"When the month ends."
"But when will it end?" she demanded. "I have no idea what day it is, or if it's even day!"
"It will end eventually," the lightbulb said comfortingly.
Donna hit her head against the wall, just to feel something. The lightbulb began to mutter gentle demands, but she ignored them.
Donna threw away the nutrient bar. She had no desire to eat.
"This is bad for your health," the lightbulb said in a sad voice. Donna wondered what they had to be sad about.
The sound of the key turning in the lock grated Donna's ears. "Would you shut up?" she shouted. "I'm trying to sleep!"
"Get up, Female Nine!" a warden shouted. "You're done here."
"See?" the lightbulb said. "It's over. Just like that."
Donna burst into tears. Slowly, she climbed to her feet and walked towards the door. It felt strange to see the door open. She had gotten used to thinking of it as part of the wall.
"You should get dressed," the warden said gently, handing her her shoes. Donna realized she was barefoot and wearing an undershirt over her bare chest. She pulled on the clothing, wincing at how dirty it was. "Now, what do you want first? Food, sleep, shower, outside, or your psychologist?"
"What do you think?" she asked the lightbulb.
"Eat a bit first, take a shower, breathe some fresh air for a few minutes, talk to Dr. Chu, and then sleep. And don't forget to exercise next morning!"
"Thanks," Donna said. "You were amazing. I don't think I could have done it without you." Feeling herself tear up all over again, she repeated it to the horrified warden. "Food, shower, outside, psychologist, sleep. In that order."
The warden nodded. "You'll also get a checkup after you wash yourself and get some clean clothes on. Let's go."
"Where are you taking me?" Donna asked, unsteady-legged, as a second warden, an unfamiliar one, ran ahead of them. They began to walk towards the stairs. Donna was beginning to feel like the past month had just been a particularly strange nightmare. Anything just before it, too, had also taken on a strange faded quality.
"The washroom. You can eat there, too." They walked up the stairs. It felt strange to be walking up after so long. "Who were you just talking to right now?"
"My hallucination," Donna explained. "It's like a child who knows that their imaginary friend is imaginary, but still talks to them. I just also heard the replies, not imagined them."
"Interesting."
In the washroom, her tray awaited her on the bench, as well as a stack of clean clothes from her cell, soap, and her towel. "You'll get a haircut after this, so don't worry too much about that."
Reluctantly, Donna began to eat, and suddenly realized she was extremely hungry. The food was delicious and full of flavour, better than anything they had ever had before. She devoured it all, barely pausing to breathe. "What's in this?" she asked.
"They made it extra-bland for you, suspecting you're hypersensitive."
Bland?
"It's delicious!" Donna protested, shaking her head. "And multicoloured!"
"I suppose," the warden said. Donna nodded, feeling like she was going to cry all over again. "Why don't you wash now?" Donna was beginning to feel a little bit sick from eating so much so fast, but she still obeyed. She took off her dirty clothes and went to her tap, turning on the water. "This is for you."
Donna turned around and walked over to the warden, who was holding out a piece of chocolate. "Thanks," she said, stuffing it into her mouth. It was almost impossibly sweet. "Why?"
"Because it's wrong, to keep you locked up like that," she said intensely. "Now, go wash yourself. You're covered in grime."
Donna stepped under the hot water and stood there for a while. It felt so strange and unfamiliar. Had she really been lying in that little cell just a short while ago? She took the bar of soap and began to wash herself, scrubbing her skin with her hands. The warden was right, she was horribly dirty. Donna felt ashamed at having someone else see her like that, and kicked herself mentally for not having washed in her cell. How hard would it have been to do so? She wanted to beat her head against the wall, but stopped herself, imagining the lightbulb's disappointment.
Realing what she was thinking, Donna froze. Was she losing the ability to tell between delusion and reality? She didn't feel crazy, but she knew that she was. It was strange to stand there, under the hot water, and understand that her brain wasn't working right. Healthy people didn't think they were talking to lightbulbs. Donna wondered if she'd ever be healthy again. She started to cry yet again as she continued to shower.
Once she was done, she reluctantly turned off the water, toweled herself dry, and put on the clean clothes. They felt very nice against her skin. The warden then took her to get her hair buzzed. Donna stared into the mirror, trying to see if there were any differences. She looked a little bit paler, a little bit skinnier, a little bit deader. Her hair was messy, but it was quickly taken under control with a pair of clippers.
Hair now too short to stick out, Donna was taken to Tia, who quickly proclaimed her to be physically healthy, if a bit underweight, and slipped her half a peach. "Could I have more fresh fruits in my diet?" she asked. "I've got chronic constipation."
Tia raised an eyebrow. "If it doesn't clear up by next week, I'll give you laxatives."
Donna ate the peach, feeling disappointed. "No other complaints," she said.
Then, feeling like she was a thing being dragged back and forth, she was taken outside. There was nobody else in the yard, as it was already quite late. Donna stared at the clear blue sky, at the multicoloured grasses, at everything that was growing in there. It was as if she had jumped a month forward in time. The potatoes had grown dramatically. Donna lay down in the tall grass in the meadow, feeling the softness. She ran her hands through it, feeling it caress her skin. She rolled over onto her back and looked into the endless light-blue, feeling like she would sink into it and disappear.
"Alright," the warden said, "let's get back now. You'll have plenty of time tomorrow." Donna climbed to her feet and followed her back. As soon as she stepped into the corridor, she began to feel sick. Her heart pounded madly, and she felt like she was going to throw up. The feeling got worse with every step, until she was gasping out loud, panting for air. She couldn't control herself. She was choking. Her breath was coming in wheezes now, and her entire line of sight shrank until the only thing she could see was the open door to her cell that beckoned her, pulled her in as it repulsed her. Donna tried to take a step back but fell on the ground, wheezing uncontrollably. Tears ran down her face as she tried to breathe through her nose, but she couldn't, there wasn't enough air.
"Can you hear me?" the orderly asked. Donna looked up at her and nodded, still shuddering and gasping. "Can you give me your arm?" She held up a syringe. Donna tried to roll back her sleeve and failed, hand shaking too much. Instead, she simply stuck out her arm. The orderly pushed back the sleeve and jabbed the needle in. Donna didn't feel any better. She still felt like there was a huge weight on her chest, and she struggled for every breath. "Now, can you try to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth?"
Donna took a long, shuddering breath, and exhaled. She then gasped for air, moaning and shivering. She tried again, and this time, she got a few good breaths in. The sedative worked quickly, and soon, she wasn't panicking anymore, but she felt a bit drowsy. "I'm good," she said, rubbing at her eyes and climbing to her feet.
She walked into her cell for the first time in a month. It looked very spacious, and Donna was surprised by her own reaction. It was very nice inside. The dirty clothing had been dumped onto her cot, so she walked over and put it in the beat-up box under it. Everything else was as she had left it before, though it was very dusty. The books were on the table, as well as four letters she had missed. The soap and towel had been returned to their usual spots. Donna sat down on her cot under the watchful gaze of the orderly and the two wardens. "I'm fine," she said. "Can I talk to my psychologist now?"
Dr. Chu turned out to be more emotional than Donna herself. As she sat down on the chair, she was wiping at her face. "I am so sorry for giving you that book," she said.
Donna shrugged. "Alright," she said awkwardly. She had had an entire speech planned out, but the psychologist looked too sad. "Can we discuss my hallucinations instead? I've never heard of people holding lengthy conversations with lightbulbs."
"If that's what you want." She took out her pen, clipboard, and ball. Donna seized the ball eagerly and began to knead it, trying to work out some of that nervous energy that the sedative hadn't gotten rid of.
Donna explained the situation. How she had started hearing the lightbulb reply in a voice that she now could not explain or imagine. How she had hallucinated it joking, encouraging, explaining. "I didn't know I knew so much about prison," she said to sum it up. "I treated myself to entire lectures about the dangers of solitary confinement."
Without saying a word, Dr. Chu reached into her pocket and took out a small plum. Confused, Donna took it and ate it in a single bite, spitting the pit into her palm. Was everyone trying to feed her up? "Thanks. It's very tasty."
"It's the least I can do for you." Dr. Chu looked utterly devastated. "What else did you experience?" She got ready to write, hand poised over paper.
Donna woke up in the middle of the night, seized with a sudden worry that the lightbulb was missing her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined the poor, lonely lightbulb with nobody to talk to. She tried to do as Dr. Chu had told her and remind herself that it had all been a hallucination. Her brain had just projected her own thoughts onto the lightbulb. It was just an inanimate object that couldn't feel. And still, Donna cried into her pillow, feeling sorry for the poor little lightbulb, all alone in that tiny cell.
The next morning, news started to fall on her like an avalanche of rocks. Her family had been notified that she had not been allowed to write for a month, but no further explanation had or could be given. Her mother would be visiting in a few weeks, instead of Aulus, so she'd have to settle for congratulating him on finishing undergrad by mail. Williamson was doing just fine and was perfectly content with a breast-less life. Theodosius had fought and made up with Vartha three times in the span of the month and had fallen to pieces from being unable to talk to her, needing to be medicated at several points. Verdant needed a hip replacement. Fourrer had become an expert in religious wars during the Cataclysm. Best had petitioned for compassionate release again, but predictably got refused. The potatoes were doing great, Holder had anxiety, Hryb wasn't talking to Smith because she had scolded him for refusing to see his family, and Hope was writing a will, even though she owned nothing.
"So, did you think of anything interesting when in there?" Li asked Donna as they jogged around the path together. Doing her morning workout had been extremely difficult, and now Donna was already feeling extremely out of breath on her third lap, but she pushed herself to keep on going.
"No," Donna said, feeling a stitch develop in one side. "I came up with a bunch of funny jokes, but I forgot them already."
"Pity." Li did a backspring. "Do anything else?"
"Just talked to the voices in my head and listened to what they had to say. And wanked."
"I guess that's valid." Li did another backspring.
"And how are you doing?" Donna was tired of talking about herself, even if it was to Li, and not the lightbulb.
Li winced. "Fine now, but last week, I ate something I shouldn't have in the yard and got sick. Ended up shitting myself in the middle of the night. Not my proudest moment."
"Ouch," Donna said sympathetically. Most of them didn't bother to wash anything before eating it. Donna had assumed that they had built up an immunity, but apparently not. "Are you better now?"
"I am never eating blackcurrants that were lying on the ground ever again." He adjusted his cap. "The others aren't letting me live it down - at least you'll get the jokes now."
"Anything else?"
"Smith has determined that we have been lied to this entire time," Li said somberly. "The toilet paper rolls claim they have two hundred and fifty sheets, but she counted one, and there were only two hundred and forty-five!"
Donna's mouth fell open. How could nobody have found that out before? "Strange you weren't the one who figured that out," she joked.
"Oh, great, you were the last one to make a joke. Now it's everyone."
Besides giving updates on how everyone was doing, Li explained a much more unexpected piece of news as they passed under the guard tower.
"We've got a new warden," he said, easily matching his own pace to hers despite the occasional cartwheel or backspring. "He's from Two, and he's a professional."
"A professional?" They had often speculated about what it would be like to have guards who were actual professionals, and not military people who had undergone a brief training program. "What's he like?"
"He keeps on saying he's a CO, not a warden. We just call him 'CO', since he's so insistent."
"'Corrections Officer.'" Donna wiped sweat from her face, trying to take measured breaths. "Like in the normal system." She thought of how she had hallucinated entire lectures about the penitentiary system. "Maybe that will make life easier."
Li nodded. "He's stricter, but he's also more relaxed."
"That's nice." Donna looked around the yard, taking in the thirty-one of them. Her gaze fell on Theodosius, and she wanted to talk to him so much, her chest hurt. But she'd have plenty of time for that. "I can't believe so much can change in a month. It's so strange when it's dumped on you all at once, instead of just happening." They passed by Hryb, who was lying under a tree with a book and waved to her as she passed.
"Nothing really happened outside, though," Li said. "Same old, same old."
Donna felt sorry for the world if less things happened there in a month than in the Supermax. She looked at Theodosius again, hoping he'd have more interesting things to say.