Day 117th.

Ever since the event, and the rise of New Order, the city sends a strange hit of faded nostalgia. Almost about 15 years ago, just right behind that building penetrated with lemon light of Order, I remember sitting on desk at my home and writing down that email. It rained, I think – and sky was still beautiful smoggy grey unlike the this piercing hues of today of colors I can’t even name and identify anymore.

Low crisp sounds of BOC still playing on ceiling audio units are the last thing I remember from that year. Apart from her. If only she had agreed to stay before the crisis...I wonder if we are even allowed to call it a crisis legally. But then, somewhere down deep in my almost mechanical sentiments I am glad she is not with us.

The filth, feared smiling faces at the low lit corners of every street we loved, people standing all day in elevated transparent boxes turning their heads in-front of lit glasses every 5 second. With the Order’s regime I don’t even remember when was the last time I heard sound of laugh. May be I will be able to recover some from our old phones. She loved recording the sounds, the ambience - she said it defines the soul of a city. With all this I’m glad she is not here. Thin but consistent pain of this comforting claustrophobia is not something I wanted her to suffer.

“Citizens. Do Not Leave the premises. It’s for your own safety. We wish you the health & happiness”.

That lemon colored floating...thing? screams for the third time today, we called them megaphones back then I think. I crash myself in one of pastel colored pods hearing this only sound we know now.