In a flash of brilliant white-blue glory the light bulb exploded. Orange sparks littered the air as millions of tiny shards of glass scattered in a wide circle beneath the fixture. We, me and the voices in my head, watched with rapture, dread and exultation in that fraction of a second as the light around us quickly disappeared and we were plunged into the abyss of pseudo-night. The irony of the situation was not lost on us: a bright, white room with its pliable and rubber walls suddenly came under attack from warm, oppressive, dangerous dark. A white room pitched in black- contrast and irony.
We would try to escape, but we can't see where the shards of glass, our keys to freedom, have fallen and we're too scared of the dark to move. Those little, sharp keys can cut our bindings and then our flesh and set us free, but now we're held captive by our restraints and fear. O, to see those rubber panels, in their pristine blanco perfection again! Yes, we'd still be in our cell, but we'd at least be home in it instead of being lost and motionless in the dark.
The lightning and thunder outside rip through the night sky and we're reminded, once again, of just how cruel nature can be- even when you're cut off from it.

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