In A Glass Cage

I have known for three weeks now. I am aware of it at all times, and it is willpower alone that keeps me in line. One second of eye contact and they’ll be onto me. But what a challenge it is to not make eye contact with someone who is always watching. It is hard to play dumb when every scrap of reason tells me to run.

Painfully, I continue the petty life I had once prized. And while I play dumb, I feel sick in wondering how long I had spent actually being dumb. How long have they been watching me? How long has my housemaid been working for them? I have known Larissa for three months. Has she been submitting observation reports for the same length?

And if it has been so long, then when will they make their move? I can only hope to be prepared, but knowledge of the ambush is little comfort when I feel so helplessly surrounded. I cannot help but notice a new camera every day. And what a difficulty it is to remain blank of all expression when abruptly I find myself staring into a lens that could hide a million watchers.

Who are they?

The question haunts me almost as much as the next question.

What do they want from me?

It is a precarious climb to the top of this wall, but I am going to have to find out what’s on the other side. I just have to remember: every move I make is being recorded.

The End

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