Yes, I actually can count days, although I do it hidden in a corner or when they have left me alone in between their times of seeing me. I know they come every two hours with clipboards and expectant looks. They sometimes come with fruits and vegetables for me, things I never knew of until I arrived here. Yes, they come. When they come near me, they reach out to touch me or show that they are not a threat. However, I know different. I know what they did to me, all that time ago. I still have that scar. I play the part well, sniffing and swaying slowly as though I were drunk, giving them the performance of a lifetime. They nod and smile, all the while writing things down, then they leave a treat for me and return to the outside world. I remain here, no longer swaying, now only staring at the door. I used to wonder what it was like beyond the door, since I don't remember how or when I arrived here. Yet, in thanks to them, I now wonder. Wondering has become my pastime, my way of proving to myself that what they did to me was wonderful and terrifying at the same time. And still, I wonder. I wonder about where I came from and if I was happy there. Did I even know what happiness was like then? I don't think I shall ever know.
A click followed by a soft groan; the door has opened again.
They come once more.