Explore "We" by Yevgeny Zamyatin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was alone in the endless corridors. In those same corridors. A mute, concrete sky. Water was dripping somewhere upon a stone. The familiar heavy opaque door,--and the subdued noise from behind it.
She said she would come out at sixteen sharp. It was already five minutes, then ten, then fifteen past sixteen. No one appeared. For a second I was my former self, horrified at the thought that the door might open.