Explore "We" by Yevgeny Zamyatin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I have not written for several days, for I don't know how many.
All my days are alike. All are of one color,--yellow like dry, overheated sand. Not a patch of shade, not a drop of water, only an infinity of yellow sand. I cannot live without her, but she, since she disappeared that day so mysteriously in the Ancient House.