Walls of Gray

Chapter 1: Gray

The Perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until my ninth year. It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make. Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with a new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook. Was it there the whole time? How had I not seen something so obvious? I am reminded of the moment daily, as the idealization directly collides with a unique hope for mu own future. As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn't my home. This village, after all of this time, was my trap.

Before I became realized, I had deep affection for Dema. There was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest. Streets and locations were dependable, and the responsibilities of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. Once a task was taught and understood, we delighted in our ability to complete our obligations timely, and felt secure in knowing tomorrow's duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. We all worked to represent our bishop with honor, and knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency.

Keons embodied the spirit of this dedication. Of Dema's nine bishops, Keons was revered as unwavering and forthright, possessing the ability to achieve focus that was rare for most on our region. We all admired him, and felt honored to be inhabitants his region. While we had heard legion of the ruthlessness of other bishops, Keons possessed a stoic demeanor unlike anyone I had ever met, and we were all proud to serve.

Clancy

He shouldn't have written it, but he did, and now there was only one thing to do.

Clancy gripped a corner of the paper and gave it a tug, prying the sheet from the typewriter as soundlessly as he could. There were at least ten other Scribes in his row of desks alone — even the presence of the dividers separating each of their desks did nothing to calm his mind. He had at least a half-hour left. Half an hour left of work, of relaying the sacred words of the Bishops into words, of relaying the history and teachings of Dema for the sake of posterity. Typing that letter alone had taken up at least fifteen minutes, and Clancy knew for a fact that he was behind on the day's quota. Keons may have been lenient on most if not all matters but vultures forbid one of the other Bishops came walking into the Scriptorium and saw that he'd been dawdling...

His fingers flew over the typewriter's keys in a frantic dance, eyes shifting from the sheet of paper tacked to his divider to the sheet of paper in the typewriter. Today's task had been the same fare as it had been for the last five days: the original nine Bishops, which Bishop succeeded which and when. Even in the history lectures he'd taken Clancy still had a hard time wrapping his head around the number of Bishops that had come and gone over the years. He probably couldn't recite them all if he was asked. Clancy tore the paper free of the typewriter, setting it onto the pile to his left before continuing to type, not daring to stop until he heard the tolling of the bells off in the distance.

The Scribes adjacent to his cubicle rose as if compelled by clockwork, the sounds of chairs shuffling against the concrete floors echoing over the empty space of the Scriptorium. Clancy rose to his feet, eager to put the typewriter and the day's work behind him, and walked hurriedly to the Scriptorium's exit, dim neon lights guiding his way down the spiraling steps that would lead him to the outside world. Much like many of Dema's buildings, the Scriptorium was tightly packed in between the Dressmakers' workshops and the southern entrance to the mines, all of which lined the outer ring between the Glorious Vista and the Necropolis. And amidst the fog, if Clancy looked hard enough, he could see the Nine Towers that lay in the center of the city, towering over the buildings that circled them. Day was slowly transitioning into night now, the silver sky turning a dark gray much akin to the Towers. Thankfully, Clancy's district wasn't too far from the Scriptorium.