Annalise felt the strange urge to rip her heart out of her chest.

The Warden called her name first, assigning her to cell number 78, but what bothered her was not the cell or the number, it was the strong, cruel hands that grabbed her from behind, dragged her out of the room, and thrust her forward. The force nearly knocked her over as she stumbled forward, the wind knocked out of her lungs.

"Move," a gruff voice behind her commanded as Annalise's hands made contact with the cold metal of handcuffs. "Face forward. Walk forward." Suddenly, she felt a rough piece of cloth wrapped needlessly tightly around her eyes yank her backwards before she could have a second to recollect her thoughts.

She was now blinded.

The darkness combined with the scarily familiar feeling of the cloth caused strange, unwanted fragments of memories to rush forward. Her heart began to race, and she would have screamed if she had regained her voice.

"I said, move!" The voice behind her yelled. Annalise's mind shrieked helpless words and pleas. Please, no, I'm sorry, no, I'll do anything, no, don't hurt me, don't touch me, I'll be a good girl, I'm sorry, I'm so so so so sorry, I didn't do anything wrong, please, I didn't kill anybody. She was shoved forward into a mindless walking trance as she stalked towards her misery. Her brain continued crying desperately but her mouth had better judgment as not even a whisper escaped her lips.

All the while the person behind her held a firm grip on her shoulders and body as she walked. Annalise had presumed it was a prison guard of some sort. Then, as a sort of remedy, Lina's words came back to her. Miracolina's camps aren't a jail. They aren't a prison. They're a rehab center.

This didn't reassure Annalise as it had before.

Annalise walked reluctantly. The blindfold didn't allow anything through. Without the slightest hint of where she was or where she was going, Annalise walked.

When the guard finally commanded her to stop, she immediately forgot how long she had been walking for. At some point, she began counting the steps, but that feat was soon dropped. Had she used stairs? She believed so, but did she go up or down? Her tired state of soul refused to remember. Her legs felt tired and shaky, worn out and dry. Her brain was muddled and messy. It had given up on its cries for help not long into the walk.

Annalise realized how tightly constricted the handcuffs had been only when the guard removed them. However, she kept her hands in that position, behind her back, wrists locked together, even after she felt the air envelope her swollen veins. She heard the creak of a door—no, a gate—open. With a not-so-gentle push on the back, she shuffled awkwardly forward, expecting to crash into something. She slowed down, and then halted, waiting for a shove or a yell with directions on where to go next.

But it never came. A couple of empty seconds later, she heard the clang of the gate closing, turning to face the direction of the sound. Her hands were still locked tightly behind her back, her eyes still blinded, and her voice was still missing.

Then she heard the boom of a different voice. A woman's.

"Cell 78," said the woman, "Inmate AB." The woman seemed to be addressing Annalise.

"You have been found guilty of terrible crimes," she continued, her voice rising and falling. "Crimes that are punishable by death, but the word of justice has been benevolent enough to see you for something other than a criminal. This is your chance. No more chances will be given. Comply, or die."

Annalise expected more, surely that wasn't the end. Surely that wasn't it. But contrary to Annalise's hopes, silence reigned supreme. Even with the blindfold on, Annalise knew that the woman was gone.

Standing there, alone, in the dark, knowing nothing, Annalise's heart began speeding up. She trembled, her brain pounding and banging on her skull. Her breathing quickened and she felt tears well up.

Why? Why me? I don't remember... I don't even know what I did. If only I could remember, I would know if I deserved this. Do I deserve this? I just want to go home...

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone untying her blindfold. She hadn't even heard anything, no slump, stomp, or noise of any kind to indicate someone coming up from behind her. Annalise jerked as a result from the motion.

The minute the blindfold was removed, though, Annalise felt herself die, as if all the water had been sucked out of her body.

Miracolina's camps aren't a jail. They aren't a prison. They're a rehab center.

Bullshit.

What Annalise saw before her, the cruel degrading of one's humanity, of children's humanity, forced the dim light in her eyes to vanish completely. She knew that children, kids aged 5 all the way to 17, could not be responsible for such heinous acts that would justify their disappointing state of body and mind.

The single, weak source of light came from the center of the room. A small, flickering lightbulb swung slowly back and forth, emitting a ghostly atmosphere. The inmates in the cells that were on the farther end of the room were unlucky, as this mere artificial wave never came near them, forcing them and their cell into a dark oblivion.

She witnessed children barely able to count to ten shivering helplessly in the corners of their cell, mouthing the words "mama" over and over again, as if their mind and soul had been consumed and burnt to a crisp. Boys and girls had their eyes swollen and red, seeming as if they might pop out any second. Malnourished and disheartened, fragile and crushed, helpless and insane, it finally became clear to Annalise that Miracolina and all of its establishments were not rehabilitation camps.

It was hell.

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