She fell to the floor and felt the soft squashy bubbles of endless flooring. The walls felt like candy floss and smelt of lemons and something bitter. Everything was a light calming yellow, including her clothing and the amount of clashing made her itch. Everything looked and felt perfect, but too perfect. Suddenly the lack of colours and conversing company started to get to her. She found herself banging her body against the walls, craving to feel pain, to feel anything other than the stuffed comfy wallpaper, but every hit just felt like a jumping match on a bouncy castle. She ripped at her clothing, at her skin but still nothing bleed. She stood naked, bared and waited for the laughs, waited for the feel of anything evil, but nothing came because she was alone and the only person who held the key to get her out was miles away. So she just sat there, tugging the shredded bits of her clothing over her as a blanket and huddled up, rocking; she waited for something different, something harder, something more realistic.