Sanitized

Eva perches upon the corner of the narrow bed, and runs a hand across the sheets, crisp and white. They smell of Clorox and this fact makes her laugh for no good reason.

"A laugh. That's unusual." The man in the white coat leans against the wall, arms crossed. Beside him is a rectangular window that allows her a narrow glimpse of the outside world. The before world, as she has come to think of it. The window's metal bars are unnecessary: No adult would be able to squeeze through that opening. "What's funny?"

"The bleach." She crosses her legs and sees that she's too thin. "My life has been completely sanitized. Fresh and clean; new and white."

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