Don closed his heavy eyes and began to dream. He dreamed in that half-conscious state of mind, between being fully awake and dead asleep. He dreamed of getting out, of somehow digging a hole or something, anything. He though about how sweet it would be to feel the sun once more, to roll in the grass and breath in the moving and fresh air. He had forgotten what the warmth of sun rays felt like, and longed to feel them again. He longed for human contact, for real conversation, and for seeing large gatherings of them. To bump into them on the streets and at the market, and to be busy with errands once more. Don missed his family and friends, and the strangers that said hi to him on the streets. He even missed the dirty looks he got when he tried to say hi to strangers. He missed living the life of the common folk, and hated how he had ever complained. But now he knew. He was late, but he knew now.
Don could feel his body slipping off into the dream world. He could feel it in his limbs, that he did not dare move. Sleep was not an easy thing to come by, and he wouldn't mess it up this time. He let his mind slip into sleep, eventually succumbed to it. In his dreams, Karen's face appeared. Her mouth opened, and it looked as though she was talking. Trying to tell him something. Don couldn't hear her, and tried to run to her. But he was never able to get to her. Karen kept trying to tell him something, until finally Don was able to hear her voice. "I'm sorry." She was saying. "I'm sorry too!" Don cried back. But Karen wouldn't stop repeating the words over again.
"I'm sorry you're in here as well." Karen's voice came again, and Don suddenly realized that bit wasn't a dream. She was actually speaking to him, and her voice brought Don's mind back to reality. Back to the cold, back to the gray walls and dirty floors, back to feeling tired and hungry. He frowned, angry and disappointed, but at least she was talking. He turned to his other side so that he could face her, to see that she remained in the same position. Don stared at her for quite some time before saying anything, waiting to regain his senses.
"May I ask how long ago you were brought here? I won't ask what happened if it is too much." Don pressed, feeling lucky. His voice was rough like gravel, sounded just like someone who had just woken up.
"It is too much. Thank you." The girl paused, then continued. "I was put in here three years ago. I was eleven." She spoke as though she had driven the emotion behind the experience away. Don envied her for being able to do this.
"I'm so sorry. You were so young." Don sat up again to show that he was giving her all of his attention. He was no longer angry.
"Can we talk about something different though?" The girl moved her greasy hair behind her ears, which did little to make it look any better. It only served the purpose of getting it out of the way of her face.
"Sure. What would you like to talk about?"
"Anything. Books." Karen decided suddenly. "Do you like to read, Don?" She inquired after a slight pause.
"I haven't done much of it, but I don't mind it. Sure, I like reading." Don decided, watching Karen. She was getting more comfortable with talking to him. This was good; he enjoyed this. "What do you like to read?"
"I had a book my mom gave me as a little girl. It was about the ocean, and it told the story of a young girl who traveled with her father on an exploring expedition." Karen spoke, her voice giving away fond memories of the book. "It felt like I was her, in that boat. With the dolphins swimming and jumping with the boat and me looking down at the map in my hands. The wind in my hair, and the ocean mist on my face." Karen managed a smile, which did not surprise Don but was still unexpected. "I used to imagine I was that little girl, with a life like that." She smiled wide, but suddenly her smile dropped and she closed her eyes. She turned her back to Don, leaning against the bars. "I'm sorry." She whispered, just loudly enough for Don to hear.
"There's not reason to be sorry. Please, keep going." Don urged her, watching her carefully. She did not move.
"You were sleeping and I woke you up. I'm sorry." Karen apologized like a young child would, fearing discipline. Don eyed her, his eyes full of pity for this young girl who had been trapped there for the prime years of her childhood, and probably did not even know what she was missing. Don let the conversation end, not wanting to push the young girl too far. He stretched out once more and turned to his side, away from the girl, and closed his eyes once more. This time, he was allowed to fall asleep without any disturbance. His sleep was void of dreams that night, hollow and unsatisfying.
To be continued...
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Jailhouse Requiem: Part 1
Hands clung to the steel bars of a jail cell in the middle of the night, the air stagnant and painfully cold. The extremities crawled up the metal cylinders slowly until they could not reach any farther and remained there, still as though the chill had locked them into place. The human that belonged to these hands picked its head up between its outstretched arms to look out at the cell directly across the hall. In the thick and muggy darkness Don could make out the dark outline of a body, thin and robotic in movement. The prisoner was doubled over, making it impossible to tell if the figure in the caliginosity was male or female. But he had seen this figure many times in its cell during daylight hours, and knew it to be female.
He had observed this fellow prisoner for many nights now, when just after sunset she would wake up and reach out with her fragile and dirty hands to grab the bars and, soundless, she would simply sit there doubled over her knees, looking directly into Don's cell. Was she ever looking at him? Judging his movements possibly, or imagining his life as he imagined she would? Or was she looking there because there was nothing else to look at, only cement and spider webs? Most likely, Don knew based off of common sense, it was the later. But what was she thinking about all the time? Perhaps she was thinking nothing, nothing at all. And perhaps she was thinking of her life before and dreaming of how she could escape, like he did and like he was sure every prisoner before him did too.
But what did it mean, her staring at him in the night with her hollow expressions? Don didn't have to see them to know they were there. It was how she looked, even in the day time. Her eyes were gray and dull, as though the color had been drained from them and with it all emotion. Her face was round and lips full, but permanently frowning, and her cheeks were flat and inexpressive. Her amber hair was long, and Don could imagine its former radiance, but it was now soaked with grease and badly tangled. She wore a long short-sleeved dress that looked as if it had previously been a curtain, its original color faded and unrecognizable, and her feet were bare. Don had not seen her stand but could tell she was short, and estimated her age to be thirteen or so. The girl's skin was smeared by the grime and dust that coated the cement floor, and Don knew from his many sleepless nights that she rolled and tossed about uneasily in her sleep. She was skinny and fed just enough to keep her alive, and for as long as she had been there she had not said a word.
And yet there she was again, staring either at Don or around him with her hands clinging desperately onto the cell bars like a child clinging to its mother. Her hair had settled in a large wet clump on the top of her head, possibly from rolling in her sleep, and strands of the wet matted thing had begun to fall in front of her face, covering her soul-searching eyes for perhaps the better. Don's dry lips parted slightly and he licked them, knowing that it would only make it worse. From inside his own cell, Don would normally turn his back to the girl and fall asleep. Falling asleep with her gaze fixed on him was at first difficult, but eventually Don had to get used to it. But instead of falling back asleep, he sat watching her with his skinny legs crossed and his hands resting beside him on the floor.
Don stared at her. She was looking in his general direction, but rather than staring at him it seemed as though she was staring through him. Her arms were still locked onto the bars, her spine still painfully stretched out as she was still doubled over her knees. How long until it hurt too much to sit like that? He did not have to wait long for his answer. Without warning, the girl slowly lowered her hands and let them fall beside her, palm down, with a faint plop of flesh hitting stone. She sighed visibly, but not visibly to Don. She waited a moment as if to gather her last ounce of energy, then straightened her back and crossed her legs, mirroring Don's position.
So she had been looking at him! Just this once, or had she always? Don was very curious, but would remain silent. He watched and waited as the girl adjusted herself so that she was directly across from him, then managed to lift her arms and push her hair back behind her, after which she folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Hello there." Don did not bother to wait another moment. She was already here in this two-celled prison before he arrived, and therefore he could not guess how long she had actually been there. With the guard stationed outside the prison door too far away to hear if Don whispered, he figured it might be worth it to at least try, just to hear what her voice sounded like. Out of curiosity. It had been a long time since he last spoken however, and he was surprised at the sound of his own voice, even if it was just a whisper. He dared to repeat his words once more, just a little louder, loud enough to be able to hear his actual voice. It was deeper than he remembered, but the familiar rumble was comforting.
The girl did not respond, and instead continued to stare at the dark-haired male sitting across the hall from her. She eyed him carefully and parted her lips.
"I guess you have no idea who I am." Don decided to try again. "My name is Don. What do they call you?"
"Karen."
Don caught his breath, surprised to hear her voice. It sounded so young and inexperienced and lost. Don pitied her immediately. She was so young, and to have her life stripped away from her. Don knew he couldn't possibly imagine the pain and confusion she must have felt.
"Karen." He repeated, for effect. "I'm sorry you're in here, Karen. So sorry." Don added, sadly and thoughtfully.
"So am I." Her voice was so sweet, shaky, and scared. Though Don could not see, Karen closed her eyes. Don waited, still holding his breath, but after a moment he knew the conversation was over. He placed his arms in his lap and propped his elbow on his knee, then rested his head in his hand. He began to draw pictures in the dust on the floor, and after a while decided it was time for sleep. Don laid back and turned to his side, then curled up with his back facing the girl Karen. He would try again tomorrow.
To be continued...
He had observed this fellow prisoner for many nights now, when just after sunset she would wake up and reach out with her fragile and dirty hands to grab the bars and, soundless, she would simply sit there doubled over her knees, looking directly into Don's cell. Was she ever looking at him? Judging his movements possibly, or imagining his life as he imagined she would? Or was she looking there because there was nothing else to look at, only cement and spider webs? Most likely, Don knew based off of common sense, it was the later. But what was she thinking about all the time? Perhaps she was thinking nothing, nothing at all. And perhaps she was thinking of her life before and dreaming of how she could escape, like he did and like he was sure every prisoner before him did too.
But what did it mean, her staring at him in the night with her hollow expressions? Don didn't have to see them to know they were there. It was how she looked, even in the day time. Her eyes were gray and dull, as though the color had been drained from them and with it all emotion. Her face was round and lips full, but permanently frowning, and her cheeks were flat and inexpressive. Her amber hair was long, and Don could imagine its former radiance, but it was now soaked with grease and badly tangled. She wore a long short-sleeved dress that looked as if it had previously been a curtain, its original color faded and unrecognizable, and her feet were bare. Don had not seen her stand but could tell she was short, and estimated her age to be thirteen or so. The girl's skin was smeared by the grime and dust that coated the cement floor, and Don knew from his many sleepless nights that she rolled and tossed about uneasily in her sleep. She was skinny and fed just enough to keep her alive, and for as long as she had been there she had not said a word.
And yet there she was again, staring either at Don or around him with her hands clinging desperately onto the cell bars like a child clinging to its mother. Her hair had settled in a large wet clump on the top of her head, possibly from rolling in her sleep, and strands of the wet matted thing had begun to fall in front of her face, covering her soul-searching eyes for perhaps the better. Don's dry lips parted slightly and he licked them, knowing that it would only make it worse. From inside his own cell, Don would normally turn his back to the girl and fall asleep. Falling asleep with her gaze fixed on him was at first difficult, but eventually Don had to get used to it. But instead of falling back asleep, he sat watching her with his skinny legs crossed and his hands resting beside him on the floor.
Don stared at her. She was looking in his general direction, but rather than staring at him it seemed as though she was staring through him. Her arms were still locked onto the bars, her spine still painfully stretched out as she was still doubled over her knees. How long until it hurt too much to sit like that? He did not have to wait long for his answer. Without warning, the girl slowly lowered her hands and let them fall beside her, palm down, with a faint plop of flesh hitting stone. She sighed visibly, but not visibly to Don. She waited a moment as if to gather her last ounce of energy, then straightened her back and crossed her legs, mirroring Don's position.
So she had been looking at him! Just this once, or had she always? Don was very curious, but would remain silent. He watched and waited as the girl adjusted herself so that she was directly across from him, then managed to lift her arms and push her hair back behind her, after which she folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Hello there." Don did not bother to wait another moment. She was already here in this two-celled prison before he arrived, and therefore he could not guess how long she had actually been there. With the guard stationed outside the prison door too far away to hear if Don whispered, he figured it might be worth it to at least try, just to hear what her voice sounded like. Out of curiosity. It had been a long time since he last spoken however, and he was surprised at the sound of his own voice, even if it was just a whisper. He dared to repeat his words once more, just a little louder, loud enough to be able to hear his actual voice. It was deeper than he remembered, but the familiar rumble was comforting.
The girl did not respond, and instead continued to stare at the dark-haired male sitting across the hall from her. She eyed him carefully and parted her lips.
"I guess you have no idea who I am." Don decided to try again. "My name is Don. What do they call you?"
"Karen."
Don caught his breath, surprised to hear her voice. It sounded so young and inexperienced and lost. Don pitied her immediately. She was so young, and to have her life stripped away from her. Don knew he couldn't possibly imagine the pain and confusion she must have felt.
"Karen." He repeated, for effect. "I'm sorry you're in here, Karen. So sorry." Don added, sadly and thoughtfully.
"So am I." Her voice was so sweet, shaky, and scared. Though Don could not see, Karen closed her eyes. Don waited, still holding his breath, but after a moment he knew the conversation was over. He placed his arms in his lap and propped his elbow on his knee, then rested his head in his hand. He began to draw pictures in the dust on the floor, and after a while decided it was time for sleep. Don laid back and turned to his side, then curled up with his back facing the girl Karen. He would try again tomorrow.
To be continued...
Sunday, June 10, 2012
A Letter to Experiment 327
Dear Experiment 327,
I don't know how I should begin this letter. There is too much that I want and need to say, and too many emotions that I feel and can not express. But that's the beauty of letters; it gives me the voice that I no longer have. This is why I began to write so much shortly after my escape, because it's the only way I can really convey my emotions. Ever since I lost my voice. But I can't complain, at least I shouldn't. I got out of there. Even surviving on this Earth isn't so bad compared to being in that Facility. Oh trust me, I remember. Just thinking about the pain makes me cry in the middle of the night, often I still have nightmares. But I guess that's where the similarities end now. Because that's the thing; Being in the Facility is only a memory for me. For you, it's still reality.
So ignore me. I'm not here to ramble on about myself. Above all else, I really want to know how you feel. It's been a while since we last saw each other, it's been too long actually. A huge part of me regrets leaving you behind. Sometimes, I realize it's partially my fault you're still there suffering because I could have helped you get out when I did. So before I start, I want to tell you right now that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, because I left you behind. I'm sorry, because during that moment I failed to be a friend when you needed a friend the most.
I want you to know and understand what I thought when I escaped and left you behind. My reasoning during the time was "Well, we all need to survive. The world is over, and it's survival of the fittest." I figured nature had deemed me worthy of survival, so for that split second I felt invincible. But after having a very long time to think about it, I realized how stupid I was to think that. How blind I was. Because now I realize that we are one race, and what's more important than my own life is the survival of our entire existence on this planet. If I die saving another, that man or woman may die trying to help another survive. And so it continues, until this is all over and then finally someone does survive. If we get a group of people together and they die to save others, and the chain continues, then eventually there will be a group of people left standing who have survived. And perhaps the world will start over, and the radiation will dissipate over time, spread out into the vast endless space and simply disappear.
I know, it sounds so great in theory. I must sound crazy. This wasn't the me I remember from when the world still existed. But in a dead world, there's only so much we have to rely on. Theories, hopes, and dreams. I'm living every day with this theory, that sounds so great in my mind that if I die trying to save someone then maybe my life wasn't in vain. Maybe for a split second I meant something. And I know that eventually I will die, I know I will not live to see the end of this. But I can hope that eventually humanity will survive, and maybe I'm wrong. But maybe I'm right! And that's why I try. Because maybe I'm right. I can dream that I'm right, and I can dream of better days. Because maybe eventually in the very distant future, better days will come. And maybe these are all too many maybes, but maybe that's what we all need. Maybe.
I'm going to get you out of there. The moment I can, I'm coming back for you and I'm gonna take you with me. And then we can survive together until the day that we die, and if there is a Heaven up there then maybe we can watch humanity take its course from the best seats in the house.
Before I end this, though, I have one final apology. I am sorry that I'm too much of a coward and too selfish to send you this letter, that you'll never get to see these words for as long as you or I live.
Sincerely, Xavier
I don't know how I should begin this letter. There is too much that I want and need to say, and too many emotions that I feel and can not express. But that's the beauty of letters; it gives me the voice that I no longer have. This is why I began to write so much shortly after my escape, because it's the only way I can really convey my emotions. Ever since I lost my voice. But I can't complain, at least I shouldn't. I got out of there. Even surviving on this Earth isn't so bad compared to being in that Facility. Oh trust me, I remember. Just thinking about the pain makes me cry in the middle of the night, often I still have nightmares. But I guess that's where the similarities end now. Because that's the thing; Being in the Facility is only a memory for me. For you, it's still reality.
So ignore me. I'm not here to ramble on about myself. Above all else, I really want to know how you feel. It's been a while since we last saw each other, it's been too long actually. A huge part of me regrets leaving you behind. Sometimes, I realize it's partially my fault you're still there suffering because I could have helped you get out when I did. So before I start, I want to tell you right now that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, because I left you behind. I'm sorry, because during that moment I failed to be a friend when you needed a friend the most.
I want you to know and understand what I thought when I escaped and left you behind. My reasoning during the time was "Well, we all need to survive. The world is over, and it's survival of the fittest." I figured nature had deemed me worthy of survival, so for that split second I felt invincible. But after having a very long time to think about it, I realized how stupid I was to think that. How blind I was. Because now I realize that we are one race, and what's more important than my own life is the survival of our entire existence on this planet. If I die saving another, that man or woman may die trying to help another survive. And so it continues, until this is all over and then finally someone does survive. If we get a group of people together and they die to save others, and the chain continues, then eventually there will be a group of people left standing who have survived. And perhaps the world will start over, and the radiation will dissipate over time, spread out into the vast endless space and simply disappear.
I know, it sounds so great in theory. I must sound crazy. This wasn't the me I remember from when the world still existed. But in a dead world, there's only so much we have to rely on. Theories, hopes, and dreams. I'm living every day with this theory, that sounds so great in my mind that if I die trying to save someone then maybe my life wasn't in vain. Maybe for a split second I meant something. And I know that eventually I will die, I know I will not live to see the end of this. But I can hope that eventually humanity will survive, and maybe I'm wrong. But maybe I'm right! And that's why I try. Because maybe I'm right. I can dream that I'm right, and I can dream of better days. Because maybe eventually in the very distant future, better days will come. And maybe these are all too many maybes, but maybe that's what we all need. Maybe.
I'm going to get you out of there. The moment I can, I'm coming back for you and I'm gonna take you with me. And then we can survive together until the day that we die, and if there is a Heaven up there then maybe we can watch humanity take its course from the best seats in the house.
Before I end this, though, I have one final apology. I am sorry that I'm too much of a coward and too selfish to send you this letter, that you'll never get to see these words for as long as you or I live.
Sincerely, Xavier
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