I wake up the same way I do every morning.

It's not so different from doing time in that regard.

Routine is the most effective security system man has ever devised.

Turning people into rats running in a cage

robs them of their ability to think.

Escape plans and defiance go into the back of your mind as you hop onto the wheel.

After a while, you stop seeing the hands manipulating the tests or giving you a subtle

nudge in the right direction.

All you see is the cheese.

I know all this, yet I still follow the maze as the day starts.

The lights come on automatically, followed by a gentle pulse of noise.

The noise is not like an alarm, blaring to the senses.

It's just something to lift you from the shock of the lights and get your body moving.

It's like the Pied Piper writing elevator music.

Everyone else in my cell is going through the same motions, rising from bed, stretching

their limbs, and scratching itches built up over the last night's sleep.

The sides of our cell are lined with yellow paint.

Still dazed from sleep, we shuffle over the lines and place our hands against the wall.

Everything is routine after that.

The security guards come in and do a quick sweep, searching for contraband in our beds.

None are found, of course, and then we march

to the beat of their drums. In the early days of our confinement, they would bark orders at us

...