I felt expelled and exiled, sitting in a room filled only with a bed. White walls which painted no imagination, no hope just emptiness; yet they still assured me I was meant to be here. Every day was the same as the last, every memory I captured had slowly escaped. I was considered dangerous, vile and out of control; these words constantly surrounded me, swirling around in the echoes of the halls. 15 years I have been here, and still not once has my voice box being strained. Everyday new comers are filling the halls with recent experiences, these are the only colour these halls ever hold, the only colour we are ever able to grasp and use to paint our own ideas of community; they enable us oldies to once again imagine. Soon enough the halls go back to plain white and emotionless passages and so to do my imaginations, the images that i had held slowly fade over and over again until i am left with nothing. This only reminded me of what was familiar.…