Marianne, The Madame, And The Momentary Gods - Plot & Excerpts
She would rise wearily, use the toilet, splash tepid water on her face and chest at the stained basin, then retreat to the cot to await breakfast. It would always be the same: bread and tea, both tasteless. During the morning, the voice at the grating would offer intelligence of a kind. Lunch would follow: broth and bread, distinguishable from the previous meal only in that the liquid was served in a bowl rather than a cup. During the afternoon, the voice through the wall would hiss its messages of cheer, and in the evening there would be bread and a kind of mush that seemed to have a good deal of sawdust in it in addition to whatever nutrient it might have contained. Shortly after the evening meal, the light would go out as the shrieks began, and in the scream-wracked darkness she would lie awake, shaking and weeping silently while the puppies huddled around her, offering what comfort they could. The voice through the wall told her foolproof ways of escaping the Duke of Eyes: running around him clockwise to make him dizzy; putting marbles under his wheels to make him skid; picking up a rock from the arena floor and using it to bash in his sensors.
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