Nillium Neems

lockdown is lifted, ha ha)

  Day 3

  Couldn’t sleep well last night due to rustling within the walls. Again. Sounded like rats, but I know who it was, no matter how he tries to disguise himself. I finally got to bed around 3:00AM, although it was hard to tell the exact time since my clock was lying. The time was probably closer to 4:00AM.

  I was woken up somewhere around 7:00AM for breakfast, which they shoved through the slot in my door and went on their way due to lockdown. Thankfully, it seems I’m not getting blamed for the killing yesterday. I was too quick for anyone to notice. Yay me.

  I’m certainly not eating the food. Not after seeing what was in it. But anyways, without anything better to do I might as well get around to describing my room to you.

  It’s a 10x10 square, with a heavy metal bed placed near the center of the furthermost wall. They only let me have one scrubby blanket and a single tiny pillow. Though the good doctors of Atrium were more than generous in supplying my bed with thick leather straps on both sides, for when they felt like restraining me for the night (or day). In the corner of my room is a little rusty toilet and in the other corner, is a small black desk that’s bolted to the floor so I can’t use it as a weapon. Why they gave me a desk I have no clue, since I’m only allowed to have three personal possessions at a time.

  The walls of my room are smooth, sterile and white, made from some kind of plaster or drywall. It’s not the sturdiest stuff, as I’ve managed to chip a fairly large hole through one of the walls, which are fortunately hollow inside. Gives me a rather handy place to hide this little journal. I’ve saved the wall chippings of course, managing to stick them back together so I have a removable ‘lid’ to place over the hole in the wall when I think someone’s coming.

  And that’s about it as far as my room is concerned, other than the sturdy metal door that leads into it. Making it, naturally, rather impossible to escape. The door at least had a little window in it so that I could look out.

  About midday, Doctor Flagham came in to check on me and give me my daily dose of whatever new poison they decided to try out. He frowned upon noticing my uneaten breakfast.

  "Nil, you haven’t eaten today. Are you feeling alright?"

  I just shrugged, laying back in my little bed. I’d given up long ago trying to explain things to any of the fools. He wouldn’t have believed me that the oatmeal was soaking in blood, even though it so clearly was.

  "Nil, you have to eat something," he said with a deep sigh.

  I sighed myself, being fed up with this routine. It wasn’t that old Hammy was a bad sort, on occasion I think he cared about me. He was just too stupid to see what was going. I rolled onto my side so that I was facing away from him and feigned sleep. He probably knew I was faking it, but he got the hint and left, closing the door gently behind him.

  I waited till I was sure he was gone and then sat up, mulling over the events of the day. As my mind wandered, so did my eyes, roving the room with no particular goal and finally coming to rest on the little shelf they’d given me. On it sat my only three possessions.

  1. A Charlie Brown baseball cap, which I was rather fond of since it had Snoopy on it. I rarely got the chance to watch TV, but almost every time I did, it seemed to be playing Charlie Brown. No idea why. And Snoopy was my favorite character. If I ever got sane, I intended to get a dog and name it Snoopy.

  2. A small pocket watch made of nickel. It didn’t keep time very well and ticked slower than it should have. Sometimes if I held it the wrong way it stopped ticking all together. But I liked it nevertheless. Its tick was comforting, and someone had even engraved a poem on the back.

  Is it time?

  The pocket of watch

  can’t tell of time.

  It’s for the preceiver

  to present in time.

  I had no idea what it meant. The word perceiver was even misspelled, assuming that’s the word it was supposed to be. I’d certainly never heard the word ‘preceiver’ but I didn’t write it off entirely. Maybe it meant something special.

  3. A copy of the Bible. I hated that book with a passion, because it always seemed to be watching me.

  My mind wouldn’t stop thinking of that possibility. I stared at the book for a while, feeling like it was somehow staring back at me. Finally, lunging off the bed towards it, I grabbed it in both hands and slammed back the cover.

  Sure enough, there was that flame-red, almost reptilian looking eye in the middle, pupil wide with surprise. It faded into the pages as if it had never been, but the ruse was useless. I’d caught it in the act this time.

  With a smug look on my face, I closed the Bible and put my Snoopy Cap over it, so maybe it wouldn’t see me as I wrote in my journal. After scribbling down the events of the day, I picked up the Pocket Watch and lay back against my pillow, holding the Watch to my ear.

  I fell asleep listening to the tick. Tick Tock, Tick Tock. It was comforting, the gentle clack of its gears drowning out the lonely beating of my heart.

  Till tomorrow, my Bookish Friend.

  Nil, Out!

  (By the way, I’m referring to you as ‘My Bookish Friend’ from now on. I can only assume you’re a bookish sort, if you’ve managed to stick with my mad ramblings for this long.)

  Day 4

  This morning was not good. Not good at all. Dr. Higgins, my psychanalyst, woke me up an hour early according to my untrustworthy clock. Though I suspect it was actually much earlier than that. He wanted to ask me about my dreams again. Supposedly his job was to monitor my mental health, play the role of a psychologist if you will, but dear Dr. Higgins was more of an oneirologist than anything else. A man who studies dreams. Apparently no one at Atrium cared if he did the job or not, just so long as he clocked in on time. Sigh.

  Higgins started to walk slowly around my bed, a vulture circling its prey. I must admit, I felt a little bit smug that my bed was tucked against the wall. It didn’t allow him to walk a complete circle around it, forcing him to keep changing directions. Kind of ruined his intimidation a little.

  Back and forth he walked, kind of like my clock, tick tock, tick tock, for two minutes at least before finally speaking.

  "So, you are still claiming to be unable to dream..."

  His voice was precise and slightly clipped, like some high-minded college professor giving a lecture to a room of students considerably less intelligent than he was. Or at least, less intelligent than he believed himself to be.

  "We’ve been over this before, Dr. H..."

  "And we will go over it a thousand more times until you tell me the truth, Miss Neems."

  I suppose this is the part where I show my disregard for the good doctor by spitting in his face and saying something suitably rebellious. I’d tried that once, a long time ago, and it did not end well. These days I make do with lying back in bed and closing my eyes.

  "It is impossible to not dream, Miss Neems." he continued.

  My eyes were closed, but I could tell by his voice that he was still circling around me. Tick tock, tick tock, a human clock with a broken gear.

  "Perhaps you do not remember your dreams, Miss Neems, or pretend not to remember, but you do dream. To not dream, would indicate that your very brain has shut down during the night."

  "Maybe it has," I replied brightly. "Maybe all of your endless droning about dreams has finally killed me mentally."

  The sound of footsteps ceased as he paused. I’m sure his eyes were narrowed at that one. Higgins was not amused. His footsteps continued a moment later, a slightly quicker, more frenetic pace.

  "Galantamine." he said after a while. I heard the rustle of what I could only assume was a pill bottle being pulled from the deep pockets of his white doctor’s coat.

  I cracked my eyes open a tadge and sure enough, he was holding a shiny white bottle of pills. There was no label on it and somehow, that worried me.

  "Galantamine?" I asked. "Sounds like a pa
rasite."

  He smiled at that, but his smile held no mirth in it. Just coldness.

  "Galantamine is a drug used primarily for Alzheimer’s and other memory impairments. What I have here," and he brandished the bottle at me, "Is Galantrasol, an experimental derivative of Galantamine, which is supposed to be much, much stronger. Perhaps it will help in your... inability to remember your dreams."

  "I’m guessing it’s not FDA approved?"

  He smiled again in response.

  "I did say it was experimental. Now open wide," and he shook two pills into his hand, holding them out towards me.

  It was about then that I tried to bite him. Hey, you would have too in my position. Of course Higgins was used to such antics, and pulled back immediately from my lunge, then lunging forwards himself with one arm outstretched, catching me around the throat and pushing me back onto the bed. He squeezed, holding me down till I started to choke for air.

  The moment my mouth cracked open he dropped two pills inside, loosening his grip around my throat so I could swallow while moving his other hand to press against my mouth, forcing me to do so. The pills slid down my throat and I felt like I’d just swallowed slime. Which I guess wasn’t a feeling too far from the truth.

  "There," he said, letting go and leaning back from me. "That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now be a good girl and get your sleep. And remember," here he tapped his forehead smartly with a finger, "if you just dream, it will all