The flashes.

It's too antiseptic in here. I need dope.
Silence.
Well, too damn bad. You're just going to have to deal with it, aren't you?
There wasn't even anything left unscrewed to the floor for him to smash and take his anger out on.
The anger turned inward but he couldn't take it out on himself, either. He struggled against his bonds. Trapped.
So white. The walls were so white. They blinded him with their hydrogen-peroxide cleanness.
Why am I here, anyways? It's not like I've done anything wrong. It's my body. I can do what I want with it.
Apparently not. It's not just your body, anymore. It's everyone's body. You belong to everybody, and if you harm yourself, you're damaging their property. That, my dear, is called vandalism and is punishable by law. You're lucky they didn't put you in jail.
Such a silky-smooth voice...But still he raged.
That, my dear, is called bloody fucking communism. I'm lucky they didn't put me in jail? This is confinement. I'm in a fucking oubliette and soon they'll forget me.
Cleansing, darling, you're here for cleansing. You're here so they can make you fit for society once more.
FUCK society.
The voice left him. So did the anger and the resistence. All his ideals melted. He slumped against the wall.

One more, broken. One more tally. One more statistic.