I’m very careful now about what I put in my mouth. I’m hungry, but tonight’s meal would have been a thin broth, and there is no way to avoid what I know is hidden in there. I wait for the one meal each day that may include a few whole vegetables, and eat nothing that has been mixed with another substance. Even mashed potatoes seem dangerous to me. The others think I’m ill, but they know better than to ask questions or to tell tales.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I can see no way out – no end in sight that would give me hope. Perhaps the others have got it right – maybe I should give in and be who I’m expected to be, who they tell me I am. But I’m not ready to do that yet.

Suddenly the silence is pierced by the sound of the buzzer, and I know what this means. I hear the slap, slap of bare feet against lino and the clicks of doors closing as the others obey the rules and return to their rooms. I know my door should be closed too, but it’s slightly ajar. For a moment I consider leaving it open as a gesture of defiance, but that would give my game away. I push myself up and quietly close it. There is a wide gap below the door, and I can hear what is happening. I hear the clunk as the bolts go back on the door at the top of the stairs. A minute later, the door bangs shut, the locks automatically engaging, but then it is silent.

I know that someone is coming down the stairs and along the corridor, because each night it’s the same. I don’t hear footsteps, because our visitor’s feet are covered in soft slippers that are soundless on the shiny, slippery floor. There is a sliver of light spilling into my room from the gap below the door, and a shadow passes. I think – hope – that perhaps I’m not the chosen one tonight, and I start to relax.

But I don’t hear another door open, and my heart begins to thump. And then the shadow comes back, the light under the door blocked by two feet, heels together, toes splayed.

The handle is slowly pressed down, and I know this is my moment. I need to pretend. I need to remember everything I have seen the others do, how they react, from the lethargic lifting of their heads to the time it takes to focus their eyes, and I force my tense limbs to relax. I need to be as floppy as possible, and I half close my eyes, trying not to stare at the doorway and who is about to walk through it.