She sits on the hard wooden chair, murmuring softly to herself. She has been dried and dressed in warm clothes, but she hasn’t noticed. A bruise, shockingly dark against her alabaster skin, runs along her cheekbone where one of the nurses hit her with a broom handle.
She had clung to her sanity for weeks. Mentally steeling herself against the pain and humiliation when they beat her with the broom handle and jumped on her body. Fortifying her mind against the horror of being restrained using a straight jacket and left in a dark isolated cell for up to forty eight hours. She had even manage to preserve her sanity by cushioning her mind with happy memories from the past when they had tied her hands and feet, thrown a sheet over her head, twisting it tightly around her throat to prevent her screaming, and submerged her in a bathtub filled with cold water for hours.
It was their administration of the drug, metrazol, that had done it. Her frail body had twisted and jerked with seizure-like convulsions that had fractured her vertebrae and her mind. All conscious thought had receded into deep crevices in her mind, away from the pain and the constant torment.
A nurse enters the room and sits down opposite her, a bowl of coarse bread and milk on her lap. She fills a spoon and pokes it towards the girl’s slack mouth, which opens like the beak of a baby bird.
After she is fed she sits on the hard wooden chair, murmuring softly to herself.
This piece was written for Sue Vincent’s weekly write photo prompt. You can join in here: https://scvincent.com/2019/09/19/thursday-photo-prompt-murmur-writephoto/