It’s “highly suggested” that everyone wears white. Not cream, not bluish-white, but surgical white. Paper white.
Which is why everyone makes fun of me; “she wears black,” they all whisper.
Technically, it’s midnight blue. Just to clear that up.
Everyone has to follow strict schedule and protocol. Those who stick out are “dealt with” in stages. First, they’re ostracized by peers. Then, they’re reprimanded by authorities. Finally, they just… disappear. No one knows, cares, or wants to know what happens to “them.”
I make my way to the abandoned “mine field” on the outskirts of the shining utopia formerly known as Binkhillson. It’s called 457 now; nobody wants to hurt anyone else’s feelings with a “better” city name.
But I make my way to my empty cavern home; my parents are always in and out of jail for “sticking out.” And who knows? Maybe I’ll be in that boat someday too. I’m well on my way as it is.