In the Eyes of Canvas

I lived in New York City. Or rather, what was left of it. Manhattan was really the only part that was left standing. A large white pyramid was hovering above the remnants of the Queens, and an octagonal dome stretched across what had once been the Bronx. Anything that meant anything to anyone had either been destroyed or replaced.

The Canvas were our overlords. We belonged to them, their possessions. We existed by their digression. 

All I can say is that living under the Canvas was hell. They regulated everything from the amount of time you were allowed outside to the amount of food you got to eat. Even clothing wasn’t entirely up to us. There was a strict dress code to follow at all times. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, they started to kill off the weak. The old. The disabled. The sick and injured. They were completely ruthless and cruel. 

Where do I fit in to this? Now let me just say, I’m not anyone special. I’m not some sort of hero. I’m not strong. I’m not brave. I’m just an average person in a bad situation. So please trust me when I say I didn’t ask for this…