It's been thirteen months trapped in this black box they call a room. This so called room with no light and a torn up mattress they call a bed is chucked on the cold, concrete floor. Everyday it's the same routine; wake up to them smashing on the steel door while they slide through a piece of bread and and less then a cup of water on a metal tray, sometimes I receive nothing at all but the banging on the door. They say I'm lucky to be fed after what I've done, but I don't know what that is.
Today was different though they let me out. My routine has been changed and I'm not sure if I like it. They lead me through a maze of corridors that are dimly lit. After what feels like an hour of walking we arrive at a brightly lit room with a door on the other end, I'm scared on what lies behind the door. They nudge me towards the door, as I stumble towards the door I notice little things, things I never thought I'd see again. The shaggy carpet that acts as a pathway to the wooden door at the end. The marble floor that reflects the roof onto it. As I reach for the gleaming door handle the door opens and President Ship is standing in the doorway. This young man who can barely be thirty, with his defined body, dirty blonde hair and green eyes was not what I was expecting. Maybe the other stories will be wrong as well. He gestures me to enter and sit upon the black desk chair, I stand not knowing why I'm here and whenever some one is sent to see him it never ends well.
