Darkness. That is all I know. That is all anyone here knows. Any light is a memory of something we lost long ago. A memory that we grasp at with our skinny fingers, the fingers that are riddled with pain for lack of use.
We are alone here. I have never seen the person next to me's face, nor has he seen mine. The person's name is Marie, and I draw from it that she is no more than 11. She was deposited as a baby into our place. No one has come since.
There is no way to tell time here. No daylight, no clock, no anything. The telling crawls by only by us getting older, and by the small meals deposited fro us all to attack each other like beasts for.
They like it that way.
Who are they, you may ask? They are sillohetts, small round outlines against the night sky exactly 11 years ago. I remember it well.
Pardon my cliche, but it was a dark and stormy night. The clouds masked the stars from view and the moon was a faint disk that could barely be seen by the strongest telescope. Then they came. It wasn't at all like I would have guessed; I was 11 then, and for math purposes, I am now 22, and my firey imagination had it all figured out. Whirring disks that glowed with multicolored lights that shot through the night sky, beaming people and cows up with their sickly green tractor beam.
What a fool I was.
As it is imagined, they are much smarter than humans. In fact, they are much smarter than humans credit them for.
I was about to go to my friend's sleepover in my young age, when I saw a light. A small, blinking light. An airplane, I assumed; I lived near an airport. The blinking light neared, and I could see the blinking light was a plane. Then it came.
A small silver door flicked out of the side of the plane, shaped like stairs, as per usual in planes, and a small hand flicked out, carrying what I assumed was a violin.
What a fool I was.
