Enigma.

Here's a short creative piece I wrote today. It's kinda fun and dramatic. :-)
Can you figure out the subject?
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We stand in hushed silence, hands clasped, outside. Some offer weak conversation, which falls flat against the crushing gravity of the situation, echoing as it strikes our collective apprehension, resounding hollow and sick against impermeable doors.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Eyes widen, hands tremble, faces lock. We assemble, linear, in accordance with strict instructions. With us, we can have only what the Maker allows us to keep. Handing over all but a few of our possessions, we allow them to be locked away without a sound, then stand in submission, waiting for direction. One wrong move and we could be struck from the record. Voided. Reported, anomalous. Torn to pieces as if we were never there. It’s easier to stay silent, eyes focused downward. Speak only when spoken to. Touch only what has been approved. We cannot leave the room for any reason. If one escapes, the rest are punished. Voided. Reported, anomalous. Torn to pieces as if we were never there.

We act in archaic, sacred ritual, as one, in accordance with the voice, picking up and turning over and putting down, a nation in unison, sharing the silence, shaping it to fit our purposes. Some make sculptures. Others make symbols. I make words. All become faceless offerings to the Maker, who will judge them according to their merit, in reward or punishment, our essence in effigy, packaged for professional preoccupation. I like my words. They stand strong and upright on our collective medium. So when the time is up I remove the seals and close them in, a million hands gliding against the thick paper, a vivid, diverse rainforest were it not for the terrible conformity, crushing us against the iron bell.

I smash near the far right, one of the lucky ones.