One day you started your life out in some dark womb and served a short and sweet jail sentence. You slept through a lot of it and got rather accustomed to the place by the end of the term, & the sheriff knew your name and would play a regular afternoon game of chess through the bars. You called him Andy and his aunt always cooked you up a warm hearty meal three times a day. Sometimes four.
Then you got released.
It was bright. Too bright, but you knew better as it was only natural and went on with it. Mother was there for you. You discovered new things, but did not know at the time. You did not need to know, but you still knew if you wanted to. Time was not period in your existence, until you were told to be so...
Then the play school came around three and some years later, what the deuce you said, as you examined the other derps on the playing field. What is this play thing going on? I thought I was already doing it without having to do it you thought. Still, you got to throw shit around and and they would have a snack time yo feed you colored sugar water and sweetened crisps. You even developed a fancy technique of pulling the hair of the person next to you even if Teacher was looking. First she ignored, but over time identified you as that specific number. You also learn that the name itself was a play on words for before the storm. You were predestined for a larger place. Prescribed a school. Suddenly you were faced with the full context of the terms and conditions, at the previous place you saw the term to play and took it as it is. To you anyways, but somewhere between the stuffed lions they had included a clause stating that school would be included as well. School? Sounds cruel, you then put the other pieces of the said contract into perspective and see that this is a hook line and sinker. You signed that contract the day you learned your letters and wrote it out on cardboard with a glue stick while Teacher sprinkled magic glitter over it that stayed in place. She then notarized it with a red check mark and kept it on file on a wall glimmering just out ofreach.
Then one morning you were taken to a new place in another direction. Mother left you out on the block to be inserted into a yellow brick that delivered you the establishment. She took for granted its maximum security knowing hands were always near you. This place was big and intimidating. But once you got inside it was colorful and looked similar to the last place. It was there you were told that you were to discover that kinder spirit that resided in you. You. Oh, I see, I am something that is or to be. You already were, but went along with the game anyways. Not that you had a choice, but luckily you did not get around to considering the concept until a later time. But, you did not worry 'bout a thing. They kept you in a room away from the larger creatures that roamed the estate and were happy to be out of their way. And as long as you remained passive there was no need to pay attention to what was going on. Things just happened, Teacher even said it a few times when shit went down your pants. There was recess. A few times per day they sent you outdoors into a jungle of personas playing a role, and that became your motivation and drive to last this 6 or 7 year sentence, spelled out in front of you of course, and were told that you were to be released at the end. Each year they awarded you to a new room with other beings, and you became larger than the new wave of peeps that occupied the former cell, some of which you melded with others not so much. To most you were indifferent, there just was not all the time to be one with each. You always remained in that room. New desk, new Teacher to guard the door and scribble on the whiteboard, but it was sentenced to you. You sat through it. Ran at periods, but only when the ceiling rang the tone that permitted said activity. Then they also delivered you to a specific guard a few times a week that taught you how to through stuffed balls at others while running. Some things are fun, you learned. To be elevated to a higher standard, you were. You were always watched, the eye was always there...
Then you were transferred to a new facility. This one was a little bit further distance whilst riding the yellow brick. It was bigger too. Here you had more Guards that new your name and rank, but spent less time with each one. You were to march to specific cells at specific times, the bell was there to remind you. Each Guard had his own cell, you see, and saw the magic board that received lasers shot from a ceiling box that he would verbally express his sentiments. Some were his own creativity, rather most of it was hollow and repeated as a uniform statement. Some Guards better than others, others were just there to get their pay. Still, you got by. You had more variety at times, you could choose what to eat at the lunch period granted it was one of the options. All the cells would open at that period and all the collective would march into the open square where the period would commence. Most of the Guards were absent at the period and provided spaces of time where you were not monitored by the eye. This was the only time away from the Guard. Medium security, cameras not always looking at you. Then back to a temporary deskito where you were to scribble patterns until they released you back to the solidarity of home and Parental support. This went on for a few years. Each new year you would be transferred to a new ward, where you would commute between cells at the tone.
Then again you were transferred. This one with less restrictions, but more expectations. The yellow box soon became an option if you were awarded a personal carrier. You then received a personal box that would take you to the facility. It was a perk. The perk that keeps you wanting to desire more. And it was in the books, so it was true. You get things to do things, then do things to get more things. The guards would even permit you to take your box off campus during the grazing hour to acquire food. You were required to return. You would be ascribed to arrive at a specific cell at a specific time on alternating days, it became a second though. A though not much thought about. It went on and ended. A ceremony took place, and you were to march across the platform and grab a few hands. Photos taken, hung and labeled reminding you of your place. Be in that place and trouble will abstain from making an appearance. You then were released from the Low Security Prison.
For some, more than others, it was then assumed you were to serve a probationary period at a higher Establishment. Think of it as being on probation, after being released. This one, not provided. There is a cost included in the service. It would expect you to explore what you have been previously taught. Break it down and put it back together again, then pass it on the Profef who would tell you whatever the Tenured one told him to tell his future disciples. Some sort of massive train of second hand knowledge, that would stop momentarily to reiterate its loaded cargo. You then wonder....was it always like this? Was it always meant to be.... Or are there a few negative externalities that have developed. And on top of that they keep taking your money.
TL;DR: When in doubt...follow the money.