My job is watching a woman trapped in a room.

I don’t know why I’m posting this. Maybe it’s just boredom, or maybe I feel like I owe it to her. Owed it to her for a long time. I was hired for this job almost four years ago, fresh out of college. It was a strange interview, in that it wasn’t an interview. A man showed me a room - nothing more than about ten by ten feet, old wooden floor, a single chair and desk, a monitor stuck to the wall and some wires coming out of the floor. That’s where you sit, said the man. I waited for more information but he just talked about pay until I agreed. I was poor and needed the money. I had a family to feed, and I was the only one with a job. The job was simple, watch the monitor, press the button whenever an event happened. Press the other button if you needed help. Help would be on its way. The monitor showed a camera feed of a small room. I thought it was the same one I was in at first, but after getting to know the place better I’m certain they’re different. The other room is smaller. Smaller than the tiny room I’m sitting in now. It’s made of concrete, with a door that leads somewhere. I don’t know where, I’ve never seen anyone on the other side. It’s a solid concrete door with nothing but a small slit at the bottom. I’ve never seen it open. Like my room, it has a desk and chair in it, as well as a single light overhead. The desk has a small notebook and pen sitting on it, as well as some sheets of paper. I never did figure out what they were for. There’s a small bed stuck to the wall, but other than that there’s not much else to see. One thing though, standing on the desk nearest the light is a small figurine. A small porcelain rabbit wearing a blue dress. The woman came about two and a half years ago. She was roughly my age, maybe a little younger, and looked to be Caucasian. Or at least I think she did, I remember she was wearing a raincoat, so it was hard to see at first. I never learned her name, so I never call her anything but “the woman”. At first she would just sit at the desk, sometimes lie on the bed, stare at the wall sometimes, pace for hours. She wrote a lot in the notebook. I think she used to draw on the sheets of paper, but I never got to see. Every now and then she’d leave one on the floor, nearest the door. The notebook she kept on the desk, with the pen. Sometimes I’d see her pick up the rabbit, hold it in her hand, stare at it. I never saw her do anything else to it. She never did anything. At first, I thought she was acting. I think it was a couple of months before I stopped thinking that. Sometimes she’d pace and hit the walls. Bang on the door. I think at one point I even remember her covering her ears and screaming. I never heard anything, of course. The monitor just shows her. There’s no audio attached to it. We never spoke, of course. She doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not even sure if she’s still sane enough to understand the world outside her little concrete box. I saw her happy once. It was maybe over a year ago now. She was sitting on the bed, staring up at the light. She’d pulled the rabbit down, and she was just holding it. Suddenly, she smiled. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what made her so happy, or why she was dancing around the room. I saw real joy in her eyes, and I felt happy for her. For the first time in my life, I saw someone else smile, and I felt happy for them. She was so happy. She picked up the pen, sat down at the desk, and started to write in the notebook. She spent hours writing, smiling. Occasionally she’d look at the rabbit, then go back to writing. She spent hours each day for almost a month writing. I never saw her sleep the whole time. She’d sit up all night writing as much as she could. Then one day, the notebook was gone. I never saw it again, I don’t know where it went. But after that day, she stopped writing. She would just sit on the bed, staring at the rabbit. Sometimes she’d cry, sometimes she’d scream. She’d bang on the door, over and over again. One time, I think she even tried to scratch her own eyes out. The last time that happened was about a week ago. I haven’t seen her since. The room is empty. The rabbit is still there, on the desk, but she’s not. She’s not on the bed, she’s not on the floor. The door is shut, just like it always is. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know what happened to her. I don’t even know if she’s alive. I haven’t pressed a button in years. I think I’m going to go home.

My job is watching a woman trapped in a room.

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