Chief Piece - Lily Hammer

Chief Piece

Everyone is bustling around.  The windows let in so much light; every part of me is exposed.  There aren’t any shadows here for me to seek out and find cover in, to conceal and protect me from everyone’s prying eyes (4a).  My best shot is to try to blend in.  They’re all so young with so much energy, so much hope, so much drive (4).  They’re very different from the patients back in the mental hospital.  I can almost smell the difference.  I don’t just mean the food smells, no.  I mean the energy.  Something about this place smells real light, carefree almost, like even if you mess up today you’ll always have tomorrow to fix it.  Nothing is permanent.  I think we lost that smell at the mental hospital.  There it only smells like cold gray metal and the type of darkness you can’t escape with just the flick of a light switch.

There’s a line formed of people waiting for food.  It’s like they have an unspoken agreement to keep everything in order, like a part of the Combine.  If I go in line I’ll be too exposed.  The sandwich bar in the far corner seems like a safer choice.  Safe.  As if I’ll ever truly feel that.  I weave through the youthful faces, avoiding their bright eyes.  If I’m not careful, their light will display everything within me.  I can’t let them find my secrets.

The sandwich bar is cold and metallic; it reminds me of home.  There are less people here, thankfully.  I make my sandwich, but two girls urgently talking nearby distract me.  They’re so absorbed in their gossip that they don’t even notice me.  That’s how I like it.  There’s a lot of people like that here.  Engrossed in their own conversations, unaware of their surroundings.  They should be more careful about their oblivion; I know people who take advantage of that.  In a world like this, you have to be cautious.  You have to put up walls.  You have to resist the Combine.

I’ve finally made my sandwich; it’s time to find a seat.  Some tables look welcoming, with students sitting openly.  Some are more closed off, exclusive.  I’d rather sit alone.  I find a spot at the counter, and eat amongst the voices around me.  The voices get into my ears, but I disregard most of what they’re saying.  The conversations are superficial, all part of the Combine.

After I’m done, I clear my plate.  There’s another line, more order.  More of the Combine.  It’s so obvious here.  But I have to go along with it.  If you’re anything like me, you learn to understand but not accept the Combine.