Could you critique my story please (repost, didn't get many responses)?

2009-11-23 17:49:29 UTC

In a tiny locked room, adorned only with a hard bed and a small window on the door (the kind with chicken-wire between the glass), John paced. 5 paces toward the door, a brief glance out the window, perhaps catch a glimpse of an orderlie or two, 5 paces back. Stare at the wall, not so subtly painted in 'happy blue' (as if it were a happy place). Repeat.
'You know you're never getting out of here John. They're going to kill you, that's why they brought you here. That big orderlie with the tattoos you're so scared of, he eats kids like you for breakfast.'
"Shut up!" John renewed his focus on pacing and concentrated on his senses. The whining hum of the fluorescent lighting and the slap of his bare feet on the tile stopped the voice a few seconds more. The faintest flash of a thought came over John, that the lights were getting annoying, and he knew he'd failed.
'You think you're that god damn clever, that you can hide something from me! You think that light's annoying, buzzzzz. Buzzz. I know all your thoughts kid, every dream, every fear, every secret. You can't hide from me.'
John took a deep breath which, he had found, kept him from crossing the threshold into panic. The room smelled like cheap disinfectant - a hospital smell. Less noticeable were the scents of industrial laundry detergent (used to wash his sweats and sheets) and sweat. Again, he failed in suppressing the faint curiosity as to why it would smell like disinfectant if the diseases weren't contagious.
'It's to clean up the dead bodies fool! Do you even know how long it's been since anyones checked up on you? They aren't coming back until you're dead! That's what they did to everyone else in your block, they left 'em locked up to starve.'
"No, they're not going to kill me! Why would they do that, I've been good, nothing but good!"
'Of course you've been nothing but good John, that's why the locked you up right? Get real, a charity case like you, you're nothing but a drain on society. They can't cure you. It'd be wrong NOT to kill you.'
"I've gotta get out of here!" John lost the last bit of control he had and pounded on the window, crying to get out. "THEY'RE GONNA KILL ME, GET ME OUTTA HERE!" A pack of orderlies appeared in the window; all of them were great, hulking men. One had a key and unlocked the door.
'Now you've done it John. You really pissed 'em off. Now you've done it...'
John took a jab at the one in the door, but it was no use. In seconds they had him subdued, popped a couple pills in his mouth, placed him on the bed, and left.
The pills hit John hard and fast, leaving him in a confused stupor. The last thing he heard before passing out -barely more than a whisper- was:
'You're never gonna wake up again'