We were waiting in line, I don't know how much time has passed since we came here but the line felt endless. I remember the faces of the people around me, gray, emotionless, made of stone. Some had scars, most old ladies had bad make up that made them look like clowns. Some were crying. The sky was was gray too. It felt huge and heavy, like the air surrounding us. I remember my mother. I remember dust. I remember sand. I remember a beach. I choose to remember a beach. I see the same people but younger. Bright colors and happy faces. Then we started playing with fire and everyone turned cold. I don't remember which came first. Take care of yourself said my mother. That's what we do. We take care of ourselves. How does this feel? It doesn't really matter if an iron spike is hot or cold. It never matters. It's an illusion of choice. Take care of yourself said the old man in front of me. Did he... did he said it to me though? I remember him, his name is Milos, he lost his son in the war. He lost his son when the place got bright and loud. I remember that day. Covered in gray dust. Just a few red spots in his head. Dust? Not dust. Something like ashes. My hair. My beautiful hair. Now no more. We are all the same, girls and boys in the dust, in the ashes. They are afraid of lice, I am afraid of hunger. Milos had a dog. Then one day the dog vanished. Milos was absent for a week from the line.