His first memory was of a plain black ceiling.
No paintings were decorating it. No lights hanging from above. Nothing that could tell him where he was or what kind of place he had opened his eyes in. Only an endless, dark ceiling that became the very first thing his young mind remembered.
When he finally lowered his gaze, countless unfamiliar faces surrounded him.
Some belonged to children.
Others belonged to adults dressed in long white coats that reached below their knees. Beneath them, they wore ordinary clothes like everyone else. At least, that was what Izack came to believe after reading books years later.
The children all wore identical light blue gowns. No names were embroidered onto them. No colours distinguished one child from another. They all looked the same, as though they had never been meant to become individuals.
No one ever told him where he was. No one explained why he lived there. No one even asked how he felt.
