![]() Alone in an unbearable silence, with unlimited time to think about the disease rooted inside him: the Flare, that silent, creeping virus that slowly took away everything that made a person human.īut he stank, and for some reason that set his nerves on a sharp wire, cutting into the solid block of his sanity. In a padded room devoid of color-the only exceptions a small, almost-hidden stainless-steel toilet in the corner and an old wooden desk that Thomas had no use for. As if he was meant to feel disoriented.Īlone. ![]() The meals helped, though they didn’t seem to come regularly. He tried to best guess when night had fallen, made sure he only slept what felt like normal hours. For over three weeks now, though he’d begun to doubt his tracking of time-which was based purely on instinct. ![]() No books, no movies, no games.Ĭomplete isolation. They’d taken his watch they fed him the exact same meal three times a day-slab of ham, mashed potatoes, raw carrots, slice of bread, water-never spoke to him, never allowed anyone else in the room. Not the lack of windows or the fact that they never turned off the lights. It was the smell that began to drive Thomas slightly mad.
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