PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUE

P.

Seclusion- a word that could be argued as being both indecent and relieving. Depending on the just perspective, of course. To the antisocial it could be considered a comfort, or even a delight. But for the social, it could ignite a spark of anxiety, and leave one almost too vulnerable to cope with their new environment. Perhaps, it was made to be a word that could either destroy or rebuild society. Maybe that was exactly their intent.
But, this had nothing to do with whether or not someone preferred to surround themselves with dozens of people or lock themselves in a room without a single soul to confide in. No, the topic of sociology did not factor into this... Unique lifestyle we were forced in to. I guess unique was the only word to properly describe this phenomenon, if one were to call it that. I don't see why someone would, though. Someone other than me. Bliss and perfection were the more common adjectives of choice for my peers. Some would even go as far as to label it as a utopia.

All labels aside, it never should have happened.

They promised us happiness. They promised that nothing bad would ever happen to us, so long as we obliged. Fortune, social status, and even death would be matters that would not affect us in any way. How clever of them to promise such implausible concepts. How stupid of us to be caught up in their trance. To be sucked in so easily, so willingly. How could we have been so stupid?

Then again, how could we not have? Our minds were gone, donated to government research. Ripped away from us and drowned into oblivion. Our senses of sight, sound, and touch became our only allies. How could you run or fight, when the war was against yourself? And, on the contrary, how could you cower away from yourself? The answer- you couldn't. The phrase "nothing is impossible" had been shattered. It was impossible.

Twelve thousand, four hundred, and fifty seven days since it happened. When it first happened, I hadn't been created yet. Not born, but created, as all of us seemed to be. It was only five thousand, eight hundred, and thirty two days since then.

And I'd been counting down every single one of them.

The Clean OnesOn viuen les histories. Descobreix ara