Marji
A shriek fills the air following the whistle of the crop and slap. Though I know the sound escaped from the depths of my throat, echoing throughout room four, I don't recall releasing it. It wasn't my plan, yet I can't recall why. Gasping for air, I grip the soft covers beneath me as my forehead falls to the same silky surface. Tears now coat my cheeks, gliding from beneath my light-blue mask, and yet through it all, those auxiliary sensations barely register.
Rapid-succession singular strikes on my sensitive core morph like a cloud mushrooming higher and higher into the sky until it's one prolonged overwhelming consciousness of being. I struggle for breath, attempting to keep my future cries inaudible as the rest of the world, the room, everything except Mr. Santana's actions van
