Nicoli Rasoio | District Eight | FIN/CB1

• Exactly zero six hundred hours in the morning.
  
• One crease straight down the centre of the bed covers.
• Fourteen steps to the bathroom.
• Hot tap on, off ,on.
• Thirty-two steps from the bathroom to the kitchen.
• Fork to the left, knife to the right, an inch and half from the plate; vegetables apart from meat, food does not mix on the plate.

Three prayers a day: 7 O’clock, 12 o’clock and 7 o’clock in the evening, same place, same time.

Exactly seven words per line in my diary, no more, no less. Don’t use long words!

I wonder what my uncle would think, if he knew what was going on in my head. ”Collateral damage, you don’t belong in this family.” I follow his ideologies; Ripred is my saint and will forever be. I do all the jobs, no questions asked. I accept the dirt thrown at me by the men, the men who see me as weak. I just get on with it every day; commitment has kept me with the family. Nobody knows about my little obsessions, I am sure even a diary would be the finish line for me, if found out. They’ll be able to read my thoughts, my sacred possessions; what happens in my mind is between me and the little voice.

I see the world in patterns, I plan every exactly and every object must have a place. My brain likes a challenge, the only way it can do this is by counting every step I take. From my house to the town square, it is seven thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven steps. It is not a problem in my eyes but they would call it a disorder.

Follow the orders, wear the hat and survival is likely. Don’t ask questions, don’t interfere. As long as they don’t find out about my weakness, I am safe.