I begin my morning like any other, the bells in dema go off as the very first ray of sunlight hits the gray walls, there isn't much of it. The walls have tiny holes in them to allow just enough light to pass through for us to use.
These very same walls are the ones that push me, urging me to do something but I don't know what it is that they want. I brush my teeth quickly, throw on the usual gray shirt and sweatpants, everyone else wears the same here. Walking in a straight formation my compulsion begins to take over i can't seem to stop myself from placing my knuckles on the gray Jagged bricks i stare at the stranger in front of me as I can feel the scar tissue rip off my knuckles I do this every day, it's one of the tactics I use so I 'don't fall through the floor'.
These cold gray walls have seen it all, especially when they killed the bandito they find it was a celebration for the bishops, not the people though they say it killed the fire inside.
