My eyes peeled open as the light shone through my window, signifying morning. Breathing deeply, the dust encapsulated my lungs. I shivered as I exhaled; the room was cold, as it should be. Concrete walls and floors never kept anyone any warm. I reached over to my bedside table to grab my watch. 8:56 AM. Four minutes until the Bishops made rounds. Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair, dusting away the night and fluffing it. I threw the blanket off of my body and jumped to my feet, shocked as my toes touched the floor. The footsteps of the bishops got closer and closer.
I put on my clothes as fast as possible, black cargo pants, military boots, and a black hoodie. As I was tying my boots, I noticed three people dressed in the normal outfit with yellow strips run away from the Bishops down the hall. It caught my curiosity, for sure. Was it yellow tape? Nico, the head Bishop, was close-by, probably close enough to see who ran. But it was silent, calm. I held my breath as I waited for yelling, running. It never came.
People try to escape all the time. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but it still happens. Most of the time it doesn't work. Nico catches them and brings them back, lengthening their 'sentence'. They call the ones that don't make it out fast enough FPE's. Failed perimeter escapees. I've never been brave enough to do so, but one of these days I'll muster up the courage to leave the city. Sometimes, people don't make it back. The Vultures get them when they pass. The Bishops call it "giving back".
No one here is in trouble for anything. It isn't a real jail. In fact, it isn't a jail at all. It just looks like a prison, acts like a prison. There are no guards, except for the Bishops. The vultures too, but they're real birds even though they feel like security cameras. They hear and see everything. They know everyone. It feels so tight knit here, so controlled. I ask myself why I'm here. Not metaphorically, or ironically, but this place, DEMA, that controls us. Word caught wind that we're here because of our state of mind. If you look at everyone, you notice a similar pattern. We're all somber. Everyone is dressed in black or gray. We don't speak, we don't smile, laugh, cry. I've heard that all emotion has been ripped away from us, that we're brainwashed. We have meetings every month in the Bishop's tower, where they make sure that we're just as sad and lost as we were when we got here.
I've stolen a look at the map on accident once, but it made me hopeful. This place is just a big circle. It represents the Tower of Silence, or dakhma. It's where people in a dying religion, Zoroastrians, would put the dead in a tower and vultures would eat the carcasses. Giving back. I don't think they're still around today, but this is the closest to the Tower of Silence we have. I don't know why it's like this. It feels like a psychological thriller, the same thing every day. Get up, go do your work, obey the Bishops, go to sleep, and do it all over again. My job is in the library. I sort books, dictionaries, maps. I don't hate it, and I'm well read, but not well read enough to know if we're in a dystopian novel or science fiction.
I straightened my posture as the Bishops entered. Nine of them. They filed in one by one, their red robes trailing behind. They were all pale with a constant look of disappointment on their faces. They didn't talk much, but their expressions let you know everything. They came in every morning to make sure you didn't escape, that you were being a good 'prisoner'. I stared at them as they peered around the room, getting the OK from Nico. He nodded, and they went, shutting the door behind them. Just like that. I let out a sigh of relief, plopping myself back on the bed.
***
I didn't mean to fall back asleep. Nico would get angry; adding time, work, anything to make you wonder why you born. I sat up in a panic.
As my eyes adjusted to the light and the dissociation faded, something instantly caught my eye under my door. It was a flower. A yellow flower. I had gotten one before, but I shoved it in my drawer as fast as possible. I didn't know what it meant, just like everything else going on around here. I walked over slowly, picking it up very carefully. There was a small folded piece of paper underneath. My hands were shaking ever so slightly as I opened the paper. "Tonight." It read. Around here we don't get much social time Let me rephrase that, all we have is time, but everyone is too afraid to talk to each other. One wrong thing could get you sent to the vultures. No one looks each other in the eyes; we have a collective awareness that nothing is what it seems. I'm pretty sure no one even knows my name. The word 'tonight' could mean so many things. Who sent this to me? Was it the same person as before? Do I just have to wait? I scan my mind of who it might've been. Was it the people who ran away earlier?
