Chapter Text
Signing up for such an event would be considered mad to most back in the cells.Only the most birdbrained people even considered signing a document to have themselves placed somewhere in Urbanshade.
‘What’s Urbanshade?’ some would ask.
‘Nothing good.’ ‘Nothing you need to sign up for.’ ‘Nothing worth a place in your thoughts.’ ‘Only insane people would even consider it.’
People who cannot handle themselves in their mental states are more keen to sign up, seeing there isn’t very much hope on whatever path they have taken. In here, anyone is prone to going insane and becoming desperate for any kind of change. Every day was the same, really. Maybe the conversations were different, but nothing schedule-wise ever changed.
A false sense of hope was spread around through the courtyard once. Some newbies went around saying ‘Meditation is the best way to relieve stress and depression.’ Long-terms tried it, then chewed out the newbies who preached the method. Similarly, some short-sentances started talking about some underground company named Urbanshade. The idea actually caught on quite fast- mainly due to guards dressed in some uptight uniform–called a Uni– going around to cellmates twice every week, encouraging them to sign up for Urbanshade.
At the beginning, they only went up to either super weak-looking or super strong-looking people, typically avoiding you if you fell anywhere into the grey area. But that was years ago. Nowadays, they just come once a month and boast about the benefits of working in the company. Once, I had wanted to talk to a Uni. but was ushered away by some other long-terms telling me not to do it.
‘Those people never return!’
‘There are so many better options.’
‘Are you stupid?!’
‘You’re going to die out there.’
All of these warnings running through your mind might have you second-guessing yourself, questioning if your decisions were correct at the time, or for the long-term. Similar to most inmates back there, I, desperate in my situation, took pen to paper. I remember the sound of my cuffs clanking together as I received a pen and paper with blanks along its entirety. The chains swung slightly when I drug the ball of the pen around on the paper, placing my name. My name is engraved in the blank of a dusty-white paper. No going back.
The ink-stained paper was withdrawn from my hands, the pen also taken, by a Uni. The man grunted slightly as he ripped the cell door open, and off the paper went. To whatever place would get me out of the nasty and unkept facility. To whatever person had wanted to read my name, and give me a better life.