Critique My Writing.?

I was just wondering how I sound and if I am decent writer.

Thanks.

The streaming morning sun, pours into the room - illuminating the walls to a pasty, golden, color. I sigh, blinking into the stifling rays of hot light. The pale bed sheets are tangled at my ankles in a lump, strangling my feet into a mass of twisting blankets. I tug them off with a quick jerk, shoving them onto the roughed, tiled, floor. They land with a soft THUFF.

Another hot, endless, summer day, I sigh, heaving my shoulders in reluctance. I hate mornings.

Moving slowly, I get out of bed, my heart pulsing. I raise my hands toward the shades of the window, drawing them abruptly close. The sudden darkness penetrates through my skin, but I don't care. I slump against the metal cell walls, forcing my eyes to stay open.

Glancing briefly at my new room, I try to take in the surroundings. A metal chair lays over turned in the corner beside a rusty sink and toilet. Three plants lay half dead against a soiled carpet, their leaves yellowed and sick. I frown, wondering if that is ALL they gave me. I turn my attention to the bed, which I just got out of. It is pushed against the wall, locked into place by heavy nuts and secured by two wires. I comb my dark hair absentmindedly, working at the lumps with my thin fingers. "At least I have a window," I mutter turning to face the curtains. I sigh once more, my heart thundering.

Every morning its like this. Wake up in a new room, a new place, with a new identity and get used to it until night falls. Everyone night, I slump into the bed, pulling the covers up tight, and closing my eyes, not wanting to watch the renovation and moving taking place. My hands lightly trace a dark stain on the cold floor. Its in the shape of a knife. I shudder.

The experiments were getting worse everyday.

Long ago, I was opted for a test with thirty other girls. I didn't want to do it, but it was forced on me - an experiment that would change history, I was told. I should have never followed the man into that bus, I think, pressing my nail into the stain. I shake my head. It is too late now.

Every morning the thirty of us girls would wake up in a new room and have to survive the day with whatever the place had. There were usually no doors or windows. The point of the test was to see how fast we'd adapt or escape the surroundings. All of us wanted get out of there as fast as we could and we all wanted to be back home. However the twist was, if we wanted to escape, we had to do so without any of the other girls acknowledgement. No one could see us. If we were caught, we were dead.

All twenty nine had done it. I was the last one.

Sorry that its choppy and hard to understand and has rough transitions. Its hard to get an idea across with so little space and on the spot. SORRY!