Building B

The scuffing of my shoes against the glass tile only adds to the pressure of sneaking into Building B of the Informational Library. Here in Merryweather, citizens aren’t allowed access to this information. Everyone here has grown used to the restrictions and overabundant rules, except for me. I used to live outside of these walls, or to the citizens here “the dead zone”. This government has gotten everyone to believe that anywhere outside of the barbed, electric fences is dangerous. They have convinced these people that there are no other safe living conditions, and if they oppose this rule, and leave, they won’t survive.

The decorative tales of poison gasses and lagoons of hot, toxic waste are well known to everyone in Merryweather. However, these stories aren’t true, they’re just propaganda shoved down the throats of “simple-minded” people. When I lived outside of Merryweather, no information was hidden, no ridiculous tales were entertained about the dangers of freedom, and most of all no “radicals” or “mentally ill souls” suddenly went missing the second they called too much attention to themselves.

That’s why I’m here, to find my sister. Five years ago, when my sister and I tried to escape this town, she attempted to get people to come with us. I tried to get her to come with me, and come back for them later but she refused. She couldn’t leave them behind. When I thought we were driving out together, I was wrong. She had stayed behind. In all the commotion I hadn’t seen her sneak out of the back, and now I have to find her. 

As it is after hours there is hardly anyone here. My chances are better now, as there are fewer people watching, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I have to be quick though. Every half hour the sensors do a full sweep of movement in the area. I have to be diligent with every move. To think, a few months ago, I thought sneaking into Merryweather was hard, but now, if anything goes wrong, my sister and I are never getting out of here. 

Just as I get the feeling of being lost, I find it. The records room. This room is full of tapes, files, hard drives, and most of all chip trackers. Every citizen of Merryweather is being watched, being followed, and meticulously filed. If anywhere has the location of my sister, it’s this room. I keep on high alert careful not to spring any traps, or trip any alarms. I see it, the small, transparent wire glistening in the light of the computer screens. Too easy. I sit at one of the computers and go over the passcode over and over again in my head. Nightingale, nightingale, nightingale. During my escape I heard someone in the crowd shouting it, a few minutes later, they were dead. 

I begin typing the word very carefully. If I type in the wrong passcode, all of the systems will reboot, and the entire building will go on lockdown alerting the guards of an intruder. N-i-g-h-t-i-n-g-a-. I stop typing. There must be another way. Another way to get into their systems, without relying on a possible misunderstanding on my part, or complete coincidence on theirs. I glance at the clock, I have fifteen minutes until the motion sensors begin their scan. This means I have about, five minutes to get into their system, and ten minutes to escape, undetected. I sit there blank trying to weigh my options. I watch the minutes tick by until finally, I have one minute to search, and eight minutes to leave. No more thinking. I quickly type in the l and e. The screen loads. The spinning circle almost like a flipping coin, seemingly defining my future.

It works. I quickly type in her name into the records. Only one word comes up, deceased. Numbness washes over me like a flood. Deceased? I sit at the desk for too long. Hoards of guards begin piling into the room. But I can’t do anything but sit, and stare. The last thing I see is a black taser barb hitting my skin.

*5 Years Later…* 

The white strobe lights of the cell beam down on me, highlighting the taser scars on my neck and arms. Oddly enough, my eyes still haven’t gotten used to it. Five years in this prison does a lot to a person. I used to have a purpose, my sister. I knew that if I just kept on moving, and lived through this pain, that at the end of the day, she would be waiting for me. I guess I always knew in the back of my mind she was probably killed in the protest. But my lack of knowledge fueled my fantasies. The fact that I didn’t know if she was dead or alive tricked me into false hope. I was so naive and stupid. But, now I’m aware of the dark abyss called life. There is no light, there are just people closer to the edge who can see the darkness below, and people too far away to see.

The only reason I’m alive right now is that they need me for something. Something I am trying to figure out. Two of the guards walk into my cell careful to shut the door closely behind them. “So, you’re the fighter.” The taller one sneers. “Heard she gave up a few months ago.” The other says. “Must’ve got zapped one too many times.” He chuckles. I ignore them both and continue staring at the wall. Bored with their mockery, they grab my wrists and place tight handcuffs on them. I wince, the jagged edges are meant to dig into your skin if you twist around too much. “Not so tough now?” The taller one growls, shoving me through the doorway.

I haven’t been out of my cell in years, but nothing’s changed. Everything is in the exact same place. The offices to the left, the weapons to the right, and the control hub, in the center. The guards continue shoving me through the hall until I stumble. The handcuffs again scratch against my skin. The men simply lift me up like a small doll and push me towards a small room that looks to be an office. I scan my memory trying to remember which room this is. Then, it hits me, Guardian Samuels. His office is so perfect it’s creepy. There are precisely ten roses, not a single wilted petal. Exactly twenty-one books on each shelf, and everything is grey. Even the roses are a Smokey color.

“Hello, Serafina.” His deep voice flows. I don’t say anything, there is no reason to. “Not the talkative type, now are you?” He asks. Again, I don’t respond. I just continue staring at the wall behind him. Every time I try to set my eyes on one spot, I fail. The whole wall is perfectly painted, and there’s no distinguishing between one spot and another. “Do you know why you’re here?” He asks rhetorically. This time I speak. “With all due respect, sir. Can we skip the small talk? If you wanted a nice conversation, I wouldn’t be in handcuffs.” I retort. He grins. “How forward of you.” I guess he can see the impatience on my face. He flicks the light off and turns on a video player. “This should answer some of your questions.” 

I can see myself on the screen, but I don’t remember being in that room. A doctor walks over and injects my arm with something, and begins questioning me. “Why are you here?” He asks. “To find my sister,” I repeat drowsily. “How did you get in here?” He asks. I laugh and explain to him how I got to the recording room. The doctor seems amazed, and then the video cuts off. I don’t see what’s so special about what I said, but I guess I’m the only one confused in the room. “Interesting,” Samuels says while motioning for the guards to flick on the light. “What’s interesting?” I ask. “The fact that you think your memory is normal. It’s not typical for the human memory to be capable of recalling that much detail. You recalled every detail, from every single painting to the exact number of tiles in each hallway.” His words bewilder me. I was taught to believe my so-called “abilities” were normal. My entire life, I thought I was just as normal as anybody else. 

“I can see this may be a shock to you, but I need something from you.” He says sternly this time. His relaxed composure seeming to dissipate as a result of my newfound knowledge. “Oh, and just so you know it isn’t an option. If you decide in any way, to disobey me, I might be inclined to inflict severe punishment. My assistant will brief you on your assignment.” He says just before walking out the door. There is no use in arguing with him. 

A small woman in a blouse walks in. “Your job is to go back to your friends outside of the wall and bring them here. No stragglers. We will aid you in a pretend escape. You will be chipped, wired, and we will be within a fifteen-mile radius at all times. If you fail to bring them in, we will be forced to eradicate them” She says coldly. “Anything else?” I ask. “Yes. We will be sending another person with you. Guardian Samuels has grown suspicious of another project such as yourself. You will keep an eye on him. Do you understand?” She asks. “Yes.” I respond blankly.

She motions for the guards to remove my handcuffs, and leads me to a cell. I’m assuming it’s his. “This is Arlo. He is what we call hypersensitive. All of his senses are heightened.” She says pointing at a man with ruffled blond hair, and a tired expression on his face. She presses the button on his cell, opening the door. He rises from the bed. “I’ve already briefed him on the details. You will pretend he helped you escape. “You two have thirty minutes to get acquainted before it is time.” She informs us. “She already told you about me, why are you here?” He asks. “I have some type of eidetic memory, or so they tell me.” I respond. “Prove it.” He teases. “Alright. There are thirty-one tiles from Samuel’s office to your cell, there are fifteen leaves on the indoor plant below the painting of 38 chairmen, and last but not least there is a small chip in the wall about half an inch away from the weaponry room. Would you like to hear more?” I reply. He chuckles. “That was quite descriptive.” “How do you know I’m not lying? I ask. “I can tell, it’s a talent.” He responds slyly. 

Our smiles quickly fade as the woman from before begins walking toward us. “Let’s get you ready. Shall we?” She says. “She sits us in chairs and injects a chip into our forearms. Then, she comes up to us with a scalpel. She can see the apparent apprehension on our faces. “Don’t worry, I will only cut a small entrance for the wire.” She says matter of factly. I gulp. He gives me a quick glance. She cuts him first, and he barely winces, the recording device immediately blends in with his skin. When she finally gets to me, sweat is pouring down my neck. She grips me tightly and then cuts. Unlike him, I’m not as good at hiding pain, and I let out a small yelp. Two seconds later, and the device is implanted in me as well.

The pain is still throbbing behind my ear, but there’s no time for pain. We go through with the plan. It’s dark out, so it gives any potential outsiders the fantasy that we’re escaping under the shadow of night. The escape is so well orchestrated, that even I would have believed it. When we finally get out of the walls I can almost hear his awe. “Nice. Isn’t it?” I ask. “It’s beautiful.” He says almost out of breath. Instead of basking in the sliver of freedom I can’t help but feel convicted. I start to feel nauseous. I want to protect them, but I’m out of ideas. I look over at Arlo, his awe has quickly faded to annoyance. “Something wrong?” I smirk playfully. Maybe if I hide my emotions, it will be easier to cope. He gives me a glare of pure hate. My playful attitude isn’t being reflected. “Is something wrong?” I ask, sincerely. “The noise.” He responds. I completely forgot, this must be like torture to him. He hasn’t ever really been outside. Merryweather is pretty silent as it is, not to mention the simple, soundproof cells. I can relate though. Having a perfect memory isn’t exactly amazing. I remember everything, the good and the bad if I want to or not.

“Try concentrating on one sound.” I tell him. “I am trying.” He snaps back. It seems that the darker it gets the louder and more frequent the noises become. “How about we rest here, we still have a long way to go,” I say. He sits with his head in his hands and tries to mask the pained expression on his face. “How about you just pay attention to my voice.” I say. He looks up at me. “You ask me questions, and I’ll answer. Alright?” “Okay. How is it having an eidetic memory?” He asks. “Well, it’s pretty good, nothing much.” I say. “I know you’re lying.” He replies. “Well, it’s not exactly nice remembering everything. It’s like I relive every good and bad memory all the time. I can’t forget them. Sometimes it’s like hearing a bunch of jumbled up voices in my head, but I’ve learned to focus on one at a time.” I tell him. “Finally, someone who understands the pain.” He smiles. “We should probably head to bed.” I tell him. We each lay at the foot of a tree, and I begin to drift off.

I jolt up in a cold sweat. Another one of my night terrors. This one, about my sister. I get up, and Arlo instantly wakes up as well. “Sorry.” I whisper. I know that I probably just ended any sleep he was going to get. I begin the trek to their camp with him closely behind. After a few miles of silent trekking. I near their small civilization. They are happy, free. There are children, families. I don’t know how, but I am not going to participate in leading them to prison. I tap on his shoulder and motion to the implant in my neck, and as if reading my mind, he pulls it out. This time I’m silent. I pull his implant out as well. No more.