Stopping to look around I can see nothing to cause my sense of being watched. The sun is hot on my head causing an itch. It won’t help much to scratch unless I move to some shade. I need to finish weeding this section, and then I can quit for the day. The feeling of being watch persists so strongly I almost make a run for my room. My stubbornness won’t let me leave ‘til the job is done.
Every few minutes I stop to look around, hoping to catch whoever is watching me. Frustrated and on edge I work faster. The sweat rolls into my eyes causing them to burn. Just a minute or two more and I’ll be finished. That’s all I need. A few more weeds to pull and I’m done.
As I stagger to my room, exhausted from the heat and activity, the feeling of being watched is stronger than ever. I still can’t see anyone. Once inside, the door locks. A long, lukewarm shower refreshes me and I laugh at my paranoia. Not having felt this way before, I don’t understand what is happening to me. Finally, dressed only in my underwear, I relax in my chair. Then the feeling of being watched returns.
I scan the room, searching for the source of my discomfort. It’s a small space with a bunk attached to the wall. There are two doors but I am only allowed to use one at a set time each day. Near the ceiling is a long, narrow window that lets in a scant amount of light. It does not open. High on another wall is a small TV screen that fits flush. There are no controls. Behind my chair is a shower and toilet. By the door I can’t use is a wide shelf bolted to the wall with a 3 x 12 inch opening above it. There is a flap on the outside that closes when not in use. My meals are served there, such as they are. A stool is bolted to the floor by the shelf. That’s it. No place for anyone or anything to hide.
There is no clock and I’m not allowed a watch so I have no concept of the passage of time. At certain times of the day a program appears on the TV screen but I have no choice of what to watch. Once a day I am let out to a walled in area where I can exercise or weed in a patch of dirt. Nothing grows there but weeds. It’s my job to get rid of them.
As I sit and look around my space, my rage explodes and I try to tear the fabric on the chair but it is too tight. I lunge from my chair and start pounding on the walls, profanity spewing from my mouth. All I manage to do is hurt my hands, which increases my rage.
The flap opens and a tranquilizer gun shoots a pellet into my shoulder. I am immobilized and drop to the floor, helpless. As my rage recedes, I remember where I am and why. This will be the rest of my life. I can see no one nor talk to anyone. Complete isolation. And I am being watched…at all times.