They have no kindness in them for us. [ The words are bitter, and beneath them lie hurt, and exhaustion. She's so tired of all of this. The pain in this place is very nearly constant, so familiar that, should it disappear, Sharon would feel empty. She does not look down, or away in an attempt to hide the show of weakness, or the fire of vengeance that pairs with it. ]

They look down us. If they give us anything, it's to illicit an emotional response. [ She takes another drink, larger this time around. It doesn't burn anymore, but her eyes do, and she blinks back angry tears. ] They force us to relieve our nightmares, to see illusions or images of the people we love knowing that we might never see them again.

They hurt us, all of them. [ She's talking too much, getting emotional. She tries to reign it in, lowering her voice. Her grip on her glass is tight, and she wants to hurl it at the wall. ] And they won't ever send us home.

[ Hope likes to state otherwise, but Sharon knows better. ]