She was sitting. Her head was resting on a hard surface. She had been unconscious. Could she really consider this state of grogginess as being conscious? Broken ribs, broken wrist, broken foot. Broken ribs, broken wrist, broken foot. Broken ribs, broken wrist, broken foot. She focused on assessing her physical injuries. She focused on what she knew rather than the unknown surrounding her. She lifted her head and attempted to sit a bit straighter, it seemed her spin couldn't quite unbend.
The room was small. Its 4 cement walls seemed to be closing in on her every time she looked up at them. Refusing to look at the one-way mirror situated on the... South wall? Alex kept her eyes on the small bolted table that was in front of her bolted down chair. Why had they moved her here? Why had they taken her from her dark, sand-infused crawling space and brought her here? She looked at the suspended lightbulb above her and tried to ignore the white hallows forming in her vision, how long at it been since she had seen light? She rubbed the deep burns around her wrists, why had they unbound her? How long had it been since she had sat? Her crawling space had barely allowed her enough space to crawl. Why was her right eye so blurry? Was it swelling? How long before it was swollen shut?
Leaning forward, using the slim strength left in her arms she did her best to sit as straight as possible. Her sand-colored cargo pants were worn and torn. Holes crusted with blood were many. There was no way to guess her camisole had been white. She patted the deep gash on her hip bone, the small protuberance on it offered the only reassurance.
When the door clicked open, she looked straight at it.