Everyday, the Same.

Oliver U.S. sat up in bed. He looked over at the little grey alarm clock beeping at him to get up. It was 6:00 A.M. on a Monday morning. He turned to have his feet dangling off the bed. He slipped his shoes on and went to go look at the schedule. Just like it was ten years ago, the list read: 1) Brush teeth. 2) Go to the restroom. 3) Get dressed. 4) Eat breakfast. 5) Make coffee. 6) Get mail. 7) Go to work.

Everyday, the same. After following the first five steps, Oliver stepped outside, coffee in hand. He went out to the mailbox that read, "Oliver U.S., 6753." Every United States citizen had that last name: "U.S.." This was because it became hard to tell where people came from, as well as to keep them there. Oliver got the mail, dropped it off inside, then walked to the subway station to go to work.

Everyone was assigned a job, skill or not. Oliver worked at a plant that produced paint. He didn't actually make the paint, instead he did the paperwork for producing the paint. He walked into the tall grey building with the same mindset as everyday.

Except that something was off. The usual holographic man checking you as you walked through the lobby wasn't there. Instead, there was a girl, probably 17 or 18 years old, doing this job. Oliver stopped for only a second to think about what had changed, then moved on to give her his ID and bag. She checked it almost without thinking. Her name tag read "Eliza U.S.." Without the need for small talk, Oliver got his bag from her and entered the elevator, joining ten other men already there. No one so much as glanced at each other. All were wearing the same suit and tie, name tag, and bag. There was once a time, he thought, when there was music playing in the elevator. He hadn't thought about that in what seemed like decades.

The elevator door opened, revealing the same view as everyday: rows of men, all the same, doing paperwork at a desk. There was space between each desk, to ensure that the factory workers were efficient. There was no expression on their faces. They looked sullen, like everyday.

Oliver walked straight out of the elevator, then turned left into one of the aisles. His desk was the fifth down. He set his briefcase on the desk and sat down in a grey swivel chair. Oliver looked around and saw that everything looked the same: the desks, the chairs, the pencils, the people. Everyday. Was anything ever different? he asked himself. Try to remember...

Oliver remembered a dog on the street about a year ago; it was brown with a white belly. It looked like it was starving, looking for food. How? He didn't care about the dog, it had no meaning to him.

Looking back on it now, he saw that it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was out of line, unheard of. A dog on the street? How did he even know what a dog was? He hadn't ever seen one before.

The head of his office walked in through the elevator. Everyone stood up, including Oliver. He made the usual announcements: they were making good progress, keep working hard, lunch break is at 12:00. After these were said, Oliver sat down with the rest and got to work. Paper after paper. Writing after writing. Paint. Why paint? Why was he chosen to do paperwork for a paint company?

Then he had a thought: I don't like paint. He had never had a thought like that before. The security guard at the door looked at him, dead in the eye. Did I say that out loud?

During lunch break, Eliza, the girl from the lobby, walked to the lunch bar. The hologram giving the menu told her what to get based on her health. She gathered up her food and walked to a table. Everyone sat alone in the building; there was no need for talking. However, Oliver thought about going over to talk to her. For some reason, he wanted to say something - anything. Why?

As he was about to talk to her, the hologram said, "Lunch break over. Go back to work." Oliver noticed that it was only 12:15, not their usual 20 minutes.

He headed back to work, along with everyone else. No one seemed to be surprised by the disruption. No one but Eliza. She looked confused and... angry? Oliver had never seen someone angry before. It was told to be just an idea.

He wanted to feel angry, angry at the dog on the street, the music in the elevator, the paint in the building - oh, the paint. Now multiple security guards were looking at him, as if they could hear his thoughts, perceive his actions. How?

At the end of the workday, Oliver started to walk to the elevator. The security guard at the elevator door was glaring at him, his unfeeling eyes staring into his soul, reading his innermost thoughts. Oliver only glanced back at him, not wanting the guard to read him the way he was. He got on the elevator and rode silently down. He passed Eliza on the way out. She took his bag and checked it, then gave it back to him. She looked him dead straight in the eye and said:

"They can hear you."

"I'm not talking."

"You'd don't have too." Then she gave him his bag and ID and Oliver walked away, away from the building, away from the security guards, away from Eliza.

As he walked to the subway station, he had another thought. Can everyone hear me? How could they? If the guards did, then probably everyone else can, too. An old woman was walking towards him on the sidewalk. She was hunched over with a cane and briefcase, wearing a grey pantsuit. Can she hear me? Oliver thought. He thought of something crude to say to her in his head. I hope you trip on the sidewalk. Not seeming to hear him, she kept walking, closer and closer. Oliver made the conclusion that not everyone could, but as the idea was running through his head, the old lady tripped him with her cane.

"Oh, sorry," she said, with a dead look in her eye.

"It's okay," Oliver replied, but he knew she wasn't, and that she could hear him. Can everyone? No. Not everyone. I can't read other's thoughts. So who can? He thought about the security guards and the old lady. What did they have in common? The security guards had status, they were important. They had authority.

Oliver looked at the old woman. She was far away now, but he could make out the U.S. seal on her briefcase. Authority.

Walking quickly now, Oliver began to reconsider everything. Where were his parents? Why couldn't he remember? He thought about the dog. Where was it now? He had never seen it again. Where was he born? Here, of course. But was he?

Questions filled his body as he entered the subway station. All the people, all the same, looked at him, like a crazy man. Why? Because he understood. He knew the system. He hated the system. Hated. Oliver was angry.

He thought of Eliza and how she knew. But how much did she know? Was she one of them? No - of course not. But he doubted himself. He doubted everything.

The subway was nearing the station. He looked down at the tracks. Down the tunnel, he could just make out the lights from the subway. Why me? Why do I have to know? He looked at the tracks. Apparently, there was only one thing he didn't know in this world.

He jumped onto the tracks and watched the lights devour him.