It gets strange when they put you in a room when it’s not freezing outside and ask you to be happy about it. It’s stranger still, when it begins to snow and you don’t have a window so you can watch it. All you have is a light bulb hanging off the ceiling, radiating all that it has, that reminds you, constantly, that the room has walls. And that the door is closed.
You can dream of getting out of here soon enough, which is not false. You can plan on what to do once you’re out. You can think of what to do when you’re inside. Or you could just stare at the glowing bulb and wonder how it glows constantly when the charges painfully surge through it back and forth at speeds you’ve only come across in the physics lectures.
You can imagine smiling faces outside expecting you to face all this like a man. Too bad they’re all a farce.