The Wall

 Looking out the window of a small upperstory room you might find well, not much. I suppose you might find it peaceful as long as your not overly observant, you might obtain a certain zen even. It also depends on what you are looking at though doesn't it? To be truthful, although the city you would see through this window is a supposed utopia, it is. . . Unhappy. The people that walk the streets are heavy footed they stumble through the snow, deep in depression. 

     A cloud seems to rise from their hot steemy breath, most of them are heavily adorned in monotone hats, earmuffs, and coats. The yolk of an occasional passing wagon will creek and it's wheels will dig furrows into the grey precipitation upon the ground. At first glance it all looks like a normal city, yet you begin to notice after a time, the downcast faces, and the wall they avoid like a plague.

     The wall rises menacingly well above the rooftops towering over everything. It gleams dully, mockingly, in the harsh light. The wall is what preserves this 'utopia' but all it really achieves is creating prisoners. It's a wonder that they have yet to succumb to madness.