I stare out the window. The afternoon, evening, morning, it all creeps by as I stare out the window. My eyelids droop but don’t close. I simply stare.

I didn’t sleep last night. It was almost impossible to tell when my eyes were closed and when the darkness hanging around my room was dangling a black sheet in front of me. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep now if I tried. The sunlight floods around the corners of my room. The vulnerability of my semi-conscious state scares me, and although I know my body is craving sleep I’m not sure my brain would allow for a full scale shut down in this foreign place.

A few different nurses have been in and out throughout the morning, but none have mentioned my blood. Nothing they’ve said has been important. I’m grateful that Patricia hasn’t returned. Between her slightly frightening, crazy old woman act and her demanding display for respect, she’s not someone I’m looking to spend any more time with, regardless of what she can tell me about my home or my friends.

I tried asking the nurse that brought breakfast when I would be free to leave or if she had heard about two girls named Naia or Elyse, but she simply shook her head and walked from the room. It’s impossible to tell what she’s left behind for me to eat, or what time it arrived this morning. There aren’t any clocks in my room, and I don’t have any idea when the Sun comes up or goes down. I slowly pushed the gray mush around my tray for a few minutes before begrudgingly swallowing it. Even thinking about it now, hours later, I can feel my stomach churning. I don’t know what I was eating but I feel like it’s better if I don’t ask. After breakfast, I placed the tray near the door and continued gazing out the window. I’ve been here since then.

The steel bars obstruct my view slightly from my sitting position, but getting to watch out the window is the only thing I’ve got. The window breaks up the white room, the birds and the breeze slice through silence as it trickles down the hallway into my prison cell. Sometimes I stand, gripping the cool bars between my thick, round fingers. Many times I feel like I might turn into one of the countless types of birds I’ve seen flying through the trees, and that any moment I might escape.

The more I’ve been thinking about my window, the more it frightens a small part of me. I can see only a tiny sliver of the world beyond these walls. I glance to the skyline, only imagining how endless it is. Where would I go? What would I do? Would I be able to last like these people did? People like Patricia lasted many years after the attacks before coming together here. Would I be able to make it a week? Through my first night? There’s so much out there, so many miles of empty open space that I want to see. I wonder what it’s like living so far from concrete structures or metal hallways.

Shortly after my dinner tray is collected, dinner being the same gray mush as breakfast, there is a knock on my door. I spin slowly from the window. No one’s knocked before.

“Come in…?” I call, confused. There’s a small click against the metal plate over the door handle and the familiar sound of keys sliding into the lock. The door swings open, revealing a small nurse who appears to be only a few years older than me.

She smiles as she makes eye contact and enters my room. “Hello, Albany. It’s time for your floor’s visitation meeting. If you’d like to follow me to the lobby please.” I stand, still confused. No one mentioned anything about floor visitation meetings. I’ve never seen what’s past my wooden door. Why would they bother letting us out of these cells?

The petite nurse extends an arm towards me. She seems much more well-kept than the other St. Louis Nation members I’ve met, although I’ve only met a few. Her hair is pinned up nicely, and I would consider her a cute girl. I’m taken by surprise when I see the nurse turn to leave the room and I notice a small, black pistol hanging from her hip. They all carry them, why am I surprised?

“We can’t keep you cooped up in there forever. We’re not monsters! Getting you up and moving does wonders for your blood flow,” she says with a smile. Is she joking? If so, I don’t get it.

I take my first few steps into the hallway, greeted by the artificial light similar to the light from the Colony. After sitting for the majority of the day in front of the sunny window, I’m not keen on joining the land of artificial light again.

The numbers “222” are painted on the outside of my door. Looking down each end of the hallway, I realized that there are more than fifty doors branching off of the main corridor. Fifty doors just like mine. My room seems to be around the center of the hallway, and I’m guessing it would take around the same time to get to either end. Two large men stand at each end of the hallway, guarding doors that I assume lead to the rest of the building. The nurse walks a few rooms down and pushes in a large wooden door labeled “Lounge.” Inside stand a handful of nurses, as well as more than a dozen prisoners. Motioning me forward, my nurse holds the door open. I take a few steps towards the rest of the people, who seem busy in conversation or engrossed in a card game.

“Go ahead. You’ve got half of an hour in here before it’s time to return to your cell.” She then turns and moves back towards the door, propping herself against the wall and staring off into space.

My first thought is of Naia or Elyse, or any of my Colony-mates for that matter. When I see none of them, my eyes continue scanning. There are three men sitting in the far corner at a table playing cards, while a fourth watches over one of their shoulders. They’re talking loudly, raising their fists as well as their voices after each hand, arguing about who should have won and why the others are terrible card players. I don’t understand the banter and don’t think I’ll be talking to them today.

Two young women sit near the window, keeping their heads low and whispering quietly to each other. Most of the other prisoners talk with one another, sitting in cliques around different sections of the room. One young man sits alone, in a chair like the one I have in my room. He looks to be around my age; he and I are probably the two youngest people in the room. He sits quartering away from the door with shaggy black hair hanging above his brow line. Sunlight dances through the barred windows and licks at his olive skin. He doesn’t look up until I’ve moved closer toward him to take a seat. Our eyes meet, and I notice that his are rather almond shaped. I’ve seen myself in a mirror enough to be sure I don’t look like this man. No one in my Colony looked like him either. I dismiss the confusing eye shape and plop myself into a chair a few feet from him. The view from the lobby is slightly different than the view from my window, and I’m content to spend the time observing a few new buildings out past the brick courtyard.

Buildings I’ve never seen before sit across the courtyard, and I wonder who’s sitting in them looking my way. What else are these people up to? Could Naia or Elyse be staring towards me, wondering what’s happening in my building? What about the rest of the hostages from my Colony? Who survived, and which buildings are they being held in?

Half of the break passes before the man with olive skin looks to me and speaks, breaking through the daydream of my friends. “You’re new here,” he says as he pushes the tips of his coarse hair from his eyes. I nod. The man speaks with a muddled accent, a twang I’ve never heard before. “When did you get here?”

“I woke up here yesterday, but I don’t know how long I was out before that.”

“What’s your name? Mine is Peter.”

“Albany. You can call me Aly though, everyone else normally does.”

Peter nods. “Who’s everyone else? Who else calls you Aly?”

“All of my friends used to call me Aly before I ended up here. I lived in a Colony underground before these people broke in and brought me here. Have you seen two girls named Naia or Elyse? They lived with me.” My words fly from my mouth.

Sadly, Peter shakes his head. “No, I haven’t met anyone with those names. You’re the only new person I’ve seen on this floor for a while. But it’s nice to meet you, Aly.”

“Nice to meet you too. It’s good to talk to someone who I know hasn’t had a hand in throwing me behind bars.” Peter doesn’t seem to get my compliment, but I drop it. I’m not feeling like talking, the buildings are interesting enough.

Peters' eyes dart quickly around the room, passing over me twice before continuing to spin randomly around at the other prisoners. They settle at his feet. “Do I offend you?” he asks quietly.

I feel my eyebrows raise slightly, and I shake my head quickly. “No, of course you don’t. I don’t even know you. Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I normally offend most…” Peter starts, but is cut off as Warden Krog enters through the door leading to the hallway. Thick oily sweat drips from his arms and neck. A tiny bead hangs from his upper lip, daring to take the plunge towards the floor.

“Listen up. It’s time to return to your cells. Everyone up, let’s go!” Krog turns to wait in the hallway as the nurses gather us up and move us towards the door. I want to ask Peter what he meant, why he would have offended me after barely saying anything to me, but he’s ushered away from me before I have the chance. The same young nurse with petite hands greets me and escorts me and a few others out of the lounge. Rounding the corner to the hallway, I see Peter enter the room next to mine, 224. Odd doors on my left, even doors on my right. I run my hand along the wall as I pass Peter’s open door on the way to my own. I glance quickly, but he’s facing the window and doesn’t see me pass.

The small nurse leaves me alone in my room, just as she found me. She locks the door behind her and I take my seat near the window. I watch as the sun sets over the treetops, thinking of the man in the room next door. I toy with the idea of tapping on the wall or trying to shout through it but decide that I would rather stare through the bars. After darkness takes the room, I feel myself slipping into an uneasy, dreadful sleep state.

Three different nurses bringing breakfast, lunch, and dinner as Sun rises and sets on my third day. Today, the slop had a greenish tint to it. I ate less than half of the mess at each meal. Normally, my stomach would have rolled and rumbled for more food but there’s no desire to fill myself in this place.

The nurse bringing breakfast wakes me on the fourth morning, which shocks me. Each morning prior I had been up to see the sunrise, after which I sat for a few hours before breakfast. Apparently, my body is running on fumes and needed rest.

A short while after breakfast Patricia enters with her familiar red bag of equipment slung over her shoulder. I sit up in my chair as she nears.

She motions me towards the bed with a flick of her wrist. “Sit. Over there please.” I move towards the bed, letting the nurse take my spot in the chair. “How do you feel today? Any less hostile?” she asks, keeping her eyes fixed inside the open bag sitting on her lap.

“Fine, I guess. What’s this about?”

Patricia giggles as she draws a needle and syringe from her bag. “We’re taking more blood today. We need to do a few more checks on your blood work. But no worries, we’ll be ready for your crimson stream soon enough!”

“Lucky me,” I say, slightly disgusted by the term ‘crimson stream.’

“Take it from me, be grateful when your blood work checks out. The alternative is a bit more… complicated. Bad blood is no good for us. Now, sit back and stick out your arm.” I prop myself against the back wall and extend my forearm towards the nurse. Patricia continues hooking a few tubes and bags together until the plastic blood container is complete. She grabs at my arm with one hand and prepares to plunge the needle deep into my vein. Patricia works like a professional, although I’m sure she’s not.

The nurse checks over a few parts of the bag quickly before jabbing the needle wildly into my forearm. I wince as I feel the tube slide into my arm, and then turn away in an attempt to avoid watching the needle sink any farther into my blue vein. My face wrinkles tightly in discomfort as I imagine what’s taking place. Patricia wasn’t gentle about it, but the blood seeps into the bag after only a few moments.

“Flex your hand every minute to keep the blood pumping.” I scowl at the woman as she gives me orders. “Listen, the more you cooperate the faster I can get this steel tube out of your arm. If you enjoy this, I’ll leave it in all damn day.”

I pump my arm as Patricia requested, and eventually, the needle is pulled from my arm. I gasp slightly as I feel the sleek utensil drag along the inside of my blood canal. My hand immediately moves to clasp itself over the entry and exit wound. Patricia seals the bag of dark maroon liquid and hands me a small slab of gauze.

“Keep that pressed on tightly until the bleeding stops. Then chuck it out the window,” she says as she tosses the packed bag over her shoulder. Clutching keys in one hand and the bag of blood in the other, she moves towards the door.

“What will you do with it?” Why is everyone here so preoccupied with blood? What’s the big deal?

Patricia pauses for a second, hesitating. Her eyes narrow as she turns to face me. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” Patricia stomps to the door, locking the large barricade behind her with a click. A passive sigh escapes me as I readjust my shoulders against the cool cinder block wall. The gauze is almost soaked before the hole seems clotted. I move to the window and drop the small pad into the wind. It floats effortlessly through the open air, eventually landing amongst the endless blades of grass. I take my familiar seat in my chair and continue to gaze until the sun starts to fizzle between clouds and trees. It all seemed so foreign. The surface, life after the Colony, an existence up here at all. Half of me expected something completely different, contrary to everything I’d been told. Purple grass, golden skies, green sunsets. But it’s all so…average. It’s not war-torn, or scorched by the fires of the Easterners. This place looks like the pictures in the books. It’s livable. People exist on the surface. Are they actually living?

My mind turns back to Elyse, Naia, and Jeremy, as well as the many other familiar faces from my home. I wish I could talk to them again, even just for a few seconds to make sure they’re alright. 13 people from the entire Colony were brought here. Who knows if any more survived. The thought of my once invincible pseudo-family laying dead on the metallic Colony floor is enough to send me into an anxious fit of tears. The past few days have been such an emotional overload I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around how alone I really am. I see people each day, but my life is in my own hands. I am the only one fighting for me anymore. I gasp for air as I cry, tears rushing down my cheeks. I miss home, I miss familiar faces, and above all, I miss my freedom. I existed in the Colony. I am nothing here.