narratorofsnark
I awaken in a cold room with nothing there to greet me but a blank affair of four white walls. I am trapped; there's no escape for me but in that demanding, whispering, occasionally threatening voice. I remember nothing.
"Radical," I muttered, as I stared out the car window with my peers, all balancing red spiked hair and black leather clothing on their thin frames. I smiled, despite the fact I was feeling anything but radical. They'd just believe anything I said, even the ridiculous aged slang they always seemed to like using. Interesting, and yet utterly excruciating. I smiled once more, unsure of what else I might be able to do.
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