Sunlight pours down on my world. My world. What do i call my world? Now that is a good question.
We live in a world where everything is the same. Day in, day out. Grey concrete roads. No markings. Cars parked on both sides of the road. All the same colour, like Ford's Tin Lizzie. One van sticks out. Pure black. The other cars are blue, like fingertips in danger of being frostbitten. A sad sight. The black van is unkown yet known. Everyone knows what it is but it is the unkown that comes with the known that terrifies people. Apart from the slight difference in cars the houses are all the same. Twenty houses per street. No more. No less. Triangular roofs. Very easy to fall off of, not so easy to get to the top of. Lovely that isn't it? It seems so hard to climb yet so easy to fall.
The windows are too small. Too small to clamber out of. Although they are very easy to break. I wouldn't try it myself. It seems too painful. Each window has a black rim around the edge. A border so to speak. They love setting borders and making sure we don't overstep the line. Two windows on either side of the house. I'm lucky to have a window in my bedroom. I can see what is happening in this world. So, does that make me unlucky then? Maybe it does. I can see through this world like it is as transparent as the glass in my window.
A wooden door. Standard issue. Everyone has one. We open and close it every day. Well, I try to open my door but it is forever slammed in my face. Oops! Wrong door. Or so they tell me. Try again they tell me.
Same old.
Same new.
Daily.
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