Excerpt
Click-click-click-click.
The
walls inched closer. Reed gripped the bars of his shrinking cell.
His
legs, shaking.
The
cold seeped through his bare feet. The soles were numb, his ankles ached. He
lifted his feet one at a time, alternating back and forth to keep the bitter
chill from reaching his groin, but he couldn’t waste strength anymore. He let
go of the bars to shake the numbness from his fingers.
He’d
been standing for quite some time. Has it
been hours? Occasionally he would sit to rest his aching legs, but soon the
cell would be too narrow for that. He’d have to stand up. And when the top of
his cage started moving down – and it would – he’d be forced to not-quite
stand, not-quite sit.
He
knew how things worked.
Although
he couldn’t measure time in the near-blackout room, this round felt longer than
previous ones. Perhaps it would never end. Maybe he’d have to stand until his
knees crumbled under his dead weight. His frigid bones would shatter like
frozen glass when he hit the ground. He’d fall like a boneless bag, his muscles
liquefied in a soupy mix of lactic acid and calcium, his nerves firing
randomly, his eyes bulging, teeth chattering—
Don’t think. No thoughts.
Reed
learned that his suffering was only compounded by thoughts, that the false
suffering of what he thought would
happen would crush him before the true suffering did. He learned to be present
with the burning, the cold, and the aches. The
agony.
He
couldn’t think. He had to be present, no matter what.
Sprinklers
dripped from the ribs of the domed ceiling that met at the apex where an
enormous ceiling fan still moved from the momentum of its last cycle.
Eventually, the sprinklers would hiss another cloud and the fan would churn
again and the damp air would sift through the bars and over Reed’s wet skin,
heightening the aches in his joints like clamps. For now, there was just the
drip of the sprinklers and the soft snoring of his cellmates.
Six
individual cells were inside the building, three on each side of a concrete
aisle. Each one contained a boy about Reed’s age. They were all in their teens,
the youngest being fourteen. Their cells were spacious; only Reed’s had gotten
smaller. Despite the concrete, they all lay on the floor, completely unaware of
the anguish inside the domed building.
They
weren’t sleeping, though. Sleep is when you close your eyes and drift off to
unconsciousness. No, they were somewhere else. The black strap around each of
their heads took them away from the pain. They had a choice to stay awake like
Reed, but they chose to lie down, strap on, and go wherever it took them. They
didn’t care where.
In
fact, they wanted to go.
To
escape.
Reed
couldn’t blame them. They were kids. They were scared and alone. Reed was all
those things, too. But he didn’t have a strap around his head. He stayed in his
flesh.
He
took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Started counting, again.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…10.
And
then he did it again. Again.
And
again.
He
didn’t measure time with his breathing. He only breathed. His life was in his
breath. It ebbed and flowed like the tides. It came and went like the lunar
phases. When he could be here and now, the suffering was tolerable. He counted,
and counted and counted.
Distracted,
he looked up at the fan. The blades had come to a complete stop. The air was
humid and stagnant and cold. Around the domed ceiling were circular skylights
that stared down with unforgiving blackness, indifferent to suffering. Reed
tried not to look with the hopes of seeing light pour through them, signaling
an end. Regardless if it was day or night, the skylights were closed until the
round of suffering was over, so looking, hoping and wishing for light was no
help. It only slowed time when he did. And time had nearly stopped where he was
at.
1, 2, 3—
A
door opened at the far right; light knifed across the room, followed by a
metallic snap and darkness again. Hard shoes clicked unevenly across the floor.
Reed smelled the old man before he limped in front of his cell, a fragrance
that smelled more like deodorant than cologne. Mr. Smith looked over his
rectangular glasses.
“Reed,
why do you resist?”
Reed
met his gaze but didn’t reply. Mr. Smith wasn’t interested in a discussion. It
was always a lecture. No point to prolong it.
“Don’t
be afraid.” The dark covered his wrinkles and dyed-black hair, but it couldn’t
hide his false tone. “I promise, you try it once, you’ll see. You don’t have to
do it again if you don’t like it. We’re here to help, my boy. Here to help. You
don’t have to go through this suffering.”
Did
he forget they were the ones that put him in there? Did he forget they made the
rules and called the shots and forced him to play? Reed knew he – himself – he
had gone mad but IS EVERYONE CRAZY?
Reed
let his thoughts play in his eyes. Mr. Smith crossed his arms, unmoved.
“We
don’t want to hurt you, I promise. We’re just here to prepare you for a better
life, that’s all. Just take the lucid gear, the pain will go away. I promise.”
He
reached through the bars and batted the black strap hanging above Reed’s head.
It turned like a seductive mobile. Reed turned his back on him. Mr. Smith
sighed. A pencil scratched on a clipboard.
“Have
it your way, Reed,” he said, before limp-shuffling along. “The Director wants
to see you after this round is over.”
He
listened to the incessant lead-scribbled notes and click-clack of shiny shoes.
When Mr. Smith was gone, Reed was left with only the occasional drip of the
dormant sprinklers. He began to breathe again, all the way to ten and over. And
over. And over. No thoughts. Just 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2—
Click-click-click-click.
Reed
locked his knees and leaned back as the cell walls moved closer. Soon the fan
would turn again and the mist would drift down to bead on his shoulders. Reed
couldn’t stop the thoughts from telling him what the near future would feel
like. How bad it was going to get.
He
looked up at the lucid gear dangling above his head.
He
took a breath.
And
began counting again.
