Dionne fiddled with the wires around her neck, staring at the ceiling of her narrow room.

  She imagined that she was staring at the sky, instead of the multiple wires connected to machinery above her. Opening and closing her book with a vague description of it to aid her.

  “Vast and bright like an endless cup of water.” Dionne imagined the inside of her red water bottle but bigger.

  “It had specks of messy white clouds, an image best described as a painting done by an amateur artist.” Dionne didn't know what a cloud or an artist was. So she tried her best to analyse what their association could be.

  If the clouds were something that occupied it, then an artist would have to be the one who created them.

  She took a pencil and doodled on the book’s page as she contemplated. Trying to put all her ideas and thoughts together.

  After 10 minutes and three full pages of sketches, she had finally finished it.

  Dionne proudly tore off and glued on the finished rendition on her bedside wall. Displaying it at the center, surrounded by other like minded drawings of similar origin.

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  She gleamed proudly, happy that she figured it out all on her own.

  But the feeling went away as soon as it came. This wasn't even accurate to her thoughts- Let alone reality! She didn't have any other colors than black, so the sky looked utterly bleak and lifeless.

  Totally different from the colourful and whimsical image she had pictured in her head.

  Not to mention how small her rendition was. The description clearly stated that the sky was vast and endless.

  Her paper had an end. Four to be exact. No smaller than her own hand in size.

  One book description couldn't paint a vivid picture, and Dionne was sure she’d never get it right until she saw the real deal.

  That thought alone frustrated her to no end. What was the point of having all the materials to learn without the experience of figuring out the answer?

  Why did the handlers give her books she could never understand?

  Why did the handlers give her papers and pens if she never had something to draw?

  Dionne hit the wall with her palm, the sound which followed alerting a noise sensitive alarm nearby. Her collar blinked a rapid sequence between red and yellow, only causing her anxiety to further spike.

  She hurriedly dragged her nails down the wall till it ripped the sketch in messy halves. Rendering it a mockery of her failure, much like the ones surrounding it.