Boxed In

In a bare little room, there are no windows or doors. The walls are dull and absent of decoration. A single stark, bright white strip light remains on at all hours of the day and night. There are no clocks, and there are no calendars. The furniture is battered and plain, and completely devoid of comfort.
Inside this room resides a young woman who meticulously avoids the world outside, choosing instead to while away the long, slow hours religiously polishing a simple wooden photo frame which sits, sentinel-like, at the end of the thin little blanket under which she sleeps.
She is not alone.
For sharing her dismal quarters with her is nothing more and nothing less, than a simple, brown wooden Box…