White Walls.

He awoke, with a slow realisation that these were not the familiar settings he usually opened his eyes to. He rose, with a rapid instability that made him fall back, and as he fell, a sharp pain pierced his side. He looked hastily at the place that had caused this agony. Blood. Dark, crimson, crusted blood. He daren't lift up his shirt to examine the damage.

His head felt light and dizzy. His brain began to pound the back of his skull. Struggling to blink, he circumspectly lay back down. Gazing at the ceiling, he craved to know where he was. Minutes must have passed and still his eyes hurt with every opening and closing. His unrest was disturbed further with plaguing thoughts, was anyone observing him? Was this all in his mind? A dream, perhaps?

As he tenderly sat on the edging of the single bed, he looked back at the sheets. Blood red. And that was not the original colour of them. Patches had seeped their way through his clothes onto the bedcovers. He finally built up the strength to stand. His hand touched the white plastic-feel wall; he lent his weight onto it and pushed himself into half-crouch half-stand.

His side wrecked and ached with pain. The lights in the room were what made his eyes hurt even more. Suddenly, he noticed one of the walls had a black glass square. Are they watching me? He hobbled over and peered through as best he can but it was opaque black. He tried to cry out but he has used all his energy getting to this side of the room. He looked back at where he had been. What people would do this? The white walls had blood stains painted all over them. The lights glared down on him and his body throbbed. It felt as though he were carrying a heavy load on his shoulders. Stones weighing him down, his body physically unable to hold itself up. He fell against the wall and noticed the lights dimmed, or was it his sight? The heaviness of it all made his eyes droop as he saw the snaking river of blood that had followed him. He felt empty, and giving up, he crumbled onto the floor.

When he came around he was still in that arrangement in the same area. An individual in white overalls and bizarre black and green gloves stood before him. The person's sickly teeth beamed at him - an appalling contrast to the white. He leaned forward, still smiling, clasping a clipboard to his chest. His eyes, a beady ancient tint, almost popped out of his cranium as he ogled, spellbound by the bleeding man facing him. The man, perplexed and petrified, endeavoured to speak but was interrupted by the man in front of him.
"We took your liver" he grinned.