Friday, December 23, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Institution - part 1
The sun was just setting over the busy streets of New York City. It was already Christmas eve. Many people bustling, hoping to catch a taxi or the subway to reach in time for their own Christmas dinner. Looks of excitement, happiness and a little bit nervousness were plastered on their faces, each having different thoughts as they head off for their Christmas plans for the night. Christmas jingles could still be heard from those shops that are still open.
Snowflakes rained upon the city streets, bringing down a wonderful atmosphere with it. I for one, had always admired snowflakes. They each have a different pattern and unique, just like me before I was inside the Institution.
Ah. Yes, the Institution. A wondrous place for discipline to be infused into the minds of "stubborn" and "opinionated" humans. It is located in the heart of Kotenski, Russia, deep down under the surface, where special classes are held to "redirect the mind" for the students there. I've lost my creativity there. It was a gloomy place, in a pit of darkness and dullness. Right now, I've lost most of my memories before I was sent there, but I am still trying to get them back, slowly and steadily, with the help of one of my acquaintances, Alex.
The only memory I have right now, is of the Institution. It seems like that was the only thing I could remember. Exactly how long was I in there, I sometimes wonder. I could remember the place perfectly. Dull grey uniforms worn every day, washed in a laundry room only occupied by a dozen or so washers and you do your laundry by yourself. Breakfast was at 9 every morning, lunch at 12 and dinner at 7. We will all wake up at 7.30 am and take turns to get ready. Everybody has their own queue numbers, probably given when we were first enrolled. Surprisingly, all I remember was the repetitive actions of everyday life. I remember the dull walls of the school. It was spotless and metallic. We had pathways to walk on daily, at an allocated time. We spend most of the day in classes, learning the habits of mundane humans from the thick heavy books with security cameras everywhere. I was reading out of habit. I had no other thoughts. It was like, my brain did not have any other forms of creativity. It was like a computer, spitting out numbers all the time, in a scheduled and orderly manner.
One thing that was odd about the Institution was that every night, I would hear footsteps, a weird smell, a sharp pain in arms, a cool liquid flowing in my blood, then a calming relaxation after the whole thing and I would slowly fall into slumber. The next morning, I would not think of anything and just get on with the routine.
-To be continued-
Snowflakes rained upon the city streets, bringing down a wonderful atmosphere with it. I for one, had always admired snowflakes. They each have a different pattern and unique, just like me before I was inside the Institution.
Ah. Yes, the Institution. A wondrous place for discipline to be infused into the minds of "stubborn" and "opinionated" humans. It is located in the heart of Kotenski, Russia, deep down under the surface, where special classes are held to "redirect the mind" for the students there. I've lost my creativity there. It was a gloomy place, in a pit of darkness and dullness. Right now, I've lost most of my memories before I was sent there, but I am still trying to get them back, slowly and steadily, with the help of one of my acquaintances, Alex.
The only memory I have right now, is of the Institution. It seems like that was the only thing I could remember. Exactly how long was I in there, I sometimes wonder. I could remember the place perfectly. Dull grey uniforms worn every day, washed in a laundry room only occupied by a dozen or so washers and you do your laundry by yourself. Breakfast was at 9 every morning, lunch at 12 and dinner at 7. We will all wake up at 7.30 am and take turns to get ready. Everybody has their own queue numbers, probably given when we were first enrolled. Surprisingly, all I remember was the repetitive actions of everyday life. I remember the dull walls of the school. It was spotless and metallic. We had pathways to walk on daily, at an allocated time. We spend most of the day in classes, learning the habits of mundane humans from the thick heavy books with security cameras everywhere. I was reading out of habit. I had no other thoughts. It was like, my brain did not have any other forms of creativity. It was like a computer, spitting out numbers all the time, in a scheduled and orderly manner.
One thing that was odd about the Institution was that every night, I would hear footsteps, a weird smell, a sharp pain in arms, a cool liquid flowing in my blood, then a calming relaxation after the whole thing and I would slowly fall into slumber. The next morning, I would not think of anything and just get on with the routine.
-To be continued-
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