Just Another Day in Paradise

At the place I was raised, we were given numbers. Mine was Q2403.

We stayed on an Island. Highly restricted and classified area. The weather seemed to be designed to work against you. The local reports put the official measured temperature of an average at 35.3 degrees centigrade, at least more than 2 degrees higher than mainland. You could take out your own digital clinical thermometer, leave it out in the hot sun and it would register over 39 degrees. It was crazy.

We were monitored 17 hours a day, and every hour we have to account for everybody’s presence. The system seemed to take after Alcatraz’s.

And then we were force fed water in a gracious manner.We are more likely to die from a bird pecking out our eye balls than a heat injury because of the overwhelming hydration we get.

Mornings feel like days. Days feel like weeks. Weeks feel like months. It would almost appear that humanity has unlocked the secrets of the time machine on The Island. If I were to spend the rest of my life on The Island, I may well have considered myself living through 4 lifetimes.

And at the end of the day, you wonder to yourself: Just how the hell does every guy make it through this?

We have no rights. We have no say. But we long to be free one day.