A flash piece from a painting
The white walls are as blank as my soul, as empty as my life.
I've been in this hospital/prison for six days, and they are continuing to ask my name. My mind answers Josephine. I cannot force my lips to divulge the information.
They call me Marte. It really doesn’t matter to me. What matters most is that they stopped my blood and bandaged my wrists.
I was so close to the blessed relief. I could feel the finality of death on the horizon. I craved that release, but it was denied.