Illusion

Chapter One

Here we go again.

I'm about to be dragged into the guard post for what must be the hundredth time this month.

I couldn't help it, really! When you live in a place like I do, doing anything to pass the time is worth it.

Truth is, I don't where I am. Or who I am, for that matter.

My name is Ray Clemets. Or supposedly that's what it is. That's what I remember my mother calling me when I was younger. It was before they came and took me here.

Now I'm referred to as 623. It's the number tattooed on the back of my neck.

Who? Who took me here?

I don't know that either.

All that I know, is that this place is a complete and utter dump.

Every wall was rotten and peeling. The once pristine white paint was chipping, and water stains were present almost everywhere.

The floor was overused and full of scratches. Isn't there some sort of saying that laminate is crazy durable? Not here.

Above was the ceiling, obviously. What else would be there? The sun and sky? Nope. Just more bland color. If you stand under just the right places, it leaks sometimes from the many pipes intertwined within its hollow interior.

It's the closest thing to rain we've ever gotten.

I can't remember the rain.

I can't remember the sun.

What the color green looked like.

I haven't laid eyes on an animal in years.

Do they even exist anymore?

Do I even exist?

Or is this hell hole simply a world of insanity, where we all are imprisoned for nothing?

They say we did nothing wrong. Nothing illegal in our lives before this place to have ended up here.

And then it circles around to the biggest question we all have have.

Why?

Why me?

Why them?

They say that we have purpose. But what purpose?

What do we provide other than the trouble of which the guards chase? The sad faces of which only remind each and every resident who resides here that we have nothing?

"Nothing!"

Right, back to me and the huge trouble I'm about to get into.

"And I mean nothing, justifies this destructive and impulsive behavior!"

Wow. I totally haven't heard this speech before. My gaze stayed locked on the floor as the chief continued to blabber about this and that.

He seemed to be an older man due to his quickly recoding hairline and severe hair loss. But I suppose I should keep that to myself. I really don't think it would help my case.

"623, you are aware this will call for severe punishment." Damn, he went for the number name.

Here we go again.

You'll find this is a term I use far too often.

Let's just say that I'm a girl of habit, but not necessarily one of typical appearance.

My hair was the worst thing about my appearance. That 'pretty' bright red stick straight hair is a curse. I always stand out like a sore thumb in a crowd of usual looking people.