It was hard at first. The food was awful, and the living space was cramped. Each resident could clearly hear every word uttered by the neighbors; there was no privacy at all. And there was precious little social atmosphere, either--each resident kept to himself, appearing almost fearful of making eye contact, of stepping outside of their own little boxes. They each had their own little distractions, and whether it be a book, an electrical gadget, or merely one's own mind, it kept the fear of human contact and the boredom of the long waking hours at bay. Beyond this there wasn't much to say. At night they slept: a difficult, uncomfortable task made easy only by long repetition.
It was hard at first, harder than anyone had expected it to be. No one had expected to spend their lives this way... it's simply how things worked out. And if they could find no comfort in this life, then at least there was the certainty that their children would be better off. The childless were the most resistant, and it was months before their mourning was no longer heard. Living in such a packed mass of humanity, although it set up rebellious thoughts in some, had over time a profound homogenizing effect. When one is faced with a situation one cannot change, one simply must adapt. Even an impossible reality must be accepted as reality. Although unspoken, this was the consensus they had all reached, in the first few months after they discovered that their plane was not going to land. It hadn't crashed, either, after approximately three years... although by now everyone had stopped counting. The food kept coming in little sealed trays, and they never ran out of crushed ice or cola. It wasn't so bad, once they got used to it.
It was hard at first. But it got easier.
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