I still pictured my interior just the same as any other sixteen-year-old girl's. Blood, guts and bones. A brain, and a functioning heart. Hopes and dreams, feras and sorrow. They could tell me the truth, but they couldn't force me to accept it. ↗
The room was a small square of hopelessness.
A flash of red. And then:
Dimensions: 10 ft. by 9 ft.
I swallowed a horrific giggle. Perfect. And now I knew the exact measurements of hopelessness. ↗
