Some extra clothes? Check. Some leftover food? Check. Some sort of weapon? Check. And then the most important thing... 

  I pulled out the piece of sketch paper that I had been scribbling on for the past couple of months and checked it out for one last, final glance. The whole plan sounded perfect, really, but something was missing. I could tell.

  I searched thoroughly, observing and overlooking every single bit of my plan. "Ah, there it is," I murmured to myself as I realized that the part where I would somehow get a guard down and take his keys for back-up was left out. 

  Perfect plan? Check. 

  I looked through the window that the doctor's had given me last year as a reward for being an "improving subject." No one seemed to know what I was up to, although you never know around here.

  After that, I sat back down and waited for the monitor to announce that our fifteen minute break between 11:10-11:25 a.m. was canceled again. And how did I know that it would be cancelled? Well, ever since Dr. Rivers became the new headmaster for our section of the building, anyone with a mind could tell that things were changing. Stricter curfew rules, less breaks, more labor. 
  Everything was getting worse, but did I care? No. I'm still holding on to my faith and my hope, and that what got me here was a lie.
  It pops up on the screen, and that means that in seven minutes sharp he should be here. 
  Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. 
  I wait, getting more and more tense as the minutes go by. And then there's a knock. He opens my door, his egg white gloves shaping around the handle of it. 
  "Ms. Penny Jones? You ready?" He gives me a warm, inviting look that just screams fake. 
  I know what you will do to me if I stay any longer. 
  "N-No, sir. I'm sorry. Just give me a second, please." I act like I'm tying my shoelaces, but I'm really just trying to search for that- Oh, thank God! There it is. My sharp, wooden stick that I had gotten from a long day of working in the garden lays right under my bed, waiting to be used at any given moment. "C-Can I talk to you in private for a second? I-I feel like you'd be more suitable of a doctor for this certain situation that I'm currently having." He looks at me curiously, and although he believes that there's no more use in my feelings anymore, he shuts the door. "What is it, miss?" 
  "Well you see, sir, I've been wondering..." I reach for the wooden stick and hold on to it like it's the only thing that can keep me alive, and then I look up. His syringe is pointed right up at me, and for the first time in forever, I lose my faith and my hope for just the smallest second.
  Perfect plan? Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. 

  I'm slapped once, twice, three times before he speaks to me again. It's dark, but I can tell we're downstairs.

  I lift my eyes up, emotionless. He looks back at me with anger and frustration. I hate you is what I want to say, but I don't. I never do.
  My poker face stays around for the next half hour, but as soon as he gives up on me and leaves, I sob. My uncontrollable tears form a river on the panelled flooring.
  I know I'm doing this for Wade, but does Wade know that I'm doing this for him? Can he see me? Does he know that I miss him, that nightmares of the incident are what wake me up every single morning, but yet are what keep me going? 
  I feel like he does. I force myself to know that he does. And that's what gets me to gracefully stand up on my own two feet and search for the door in the dark. I open it, and a guard drags me back to my room.
  As soon as I walk in, I'm speechless. How long have I been out? My sketch paper and pencils are gone, as well as the extra pillow that I asked for a couple of weeks ago. But what I didn't expect to be gone, what I wasn't preparing for, was that window.
  My sweet, precious window. The only thing that I could catch a glimpse of myself in, and the only thing in this heck hole of a room that could make me feel like I wasn't trapped. And now I was stripped of it. 

  An immensely cold blast of air hits me right in the chest as I enter the kitchen. I step back, startled.

  Today I have been assigned kitchen duty, involving countless hours of cooking food for my fellow patients, serving it to them, and then washing their grimy, disgusting dishes afterwards.

  At first it seems like a bore, but it's really not that bad. Not only does it give me the ability to sneak extra food into my room, but it gives me a better chance at being able to talk to my friends from other sections of the building, including the lovely Amber, Jamie, and Matt, who I was lucky enough to be stuck with for the rest of the day. 

  We greeted each other a few minutes after I had settled down from the cold, and then we started cooking the regular old beans and rice that everybody hated.

  It was a piece of cake, especially compared to the garden. There the guards were intense, strict, and demanding, always keeping an eye on you. If you even bothered to stretch or sit down for a couple of seconds, they'd send you in for "physical counseling." 

  But, regardless, the beans and rice? Still a pain. Amber helped me through it, though, with her constant jokes and her giggles that followed. I would always smile, although only around half of them were truly funny. 

  "Why did the ostrich cross the road?" 

  "Ugh. Why?" Jamie asked in an ever so enthusiastic tone, her southern accent sticking out like a sore thumb. 

  "Because he wasn't a chicken!"

  And I laughed. Again, not because it was drop dead hilarious, but because she wanted me to. And if I didn't, she'd be upset. Extremely upset. 

  Matt played along, too, but Jamie didn't. She never did. Just like we would never escape this building. Or so I thought.