The Loudest Silence

I lean against the cool metal of the large door that never opens. I know it opens, of course. It’s the only door in this room. But I almost never see it move. At least, not since the day I was brought here.

Despite it being dark in this room, I still know where the door is thanks to the light seeping in through the bottom. Even though it is probably night, the monsters keep working. 

I was brought here by people who always smile. But no matter how friendly they look or act, they’ll always be monsters to me. Why did they bring me here? Why did they bring us here? To die in this cold empty room, away from our families? 

It’s only me and Oscar now. We’re the only two left. I rub my arms, feeling chilly or maybe just scared at the thought that we’re alone. There used to be many children in this room. So many children were in here, just days ago, playing with us, eating with us, sleeping with us. Then they left, beginning to disappear one by one. No one said anything about it. The monsters acted as though they had never even existed in the first place. I just don’t understand. I never saw them go. It was like bubbles. They were there one moment and gone the next. And like bubbles it doesn’t seem to matter if one pops. 

When the last one left today, I planted myself at the door. Half because I wanted to make sure no one would take me or Oscar next and half because I was hoping if I waited here long enough, they’d come back. 

I just don’t understand why things are so different now. We used to be taken from the room from time to time, to get poked at with needles or examined by machines. But the monsters always returned us to this room. I guess they don’t now.

Suddenly I hear the muffled voices of some of the monsters behind the door. It sounds like a man and a woman. 

“Really? To all of them?” The woman asks, sounding shocked. I lean a little closer into the door. 

“Yes. Unfortunately they didn’t survive the testing. It’s a shame, but we should’ve seen it coming. You can’t force that kind of change without consequences.” The man says, sighing. What does he mean, force that kind of change? Who is he talking about? Us?

“What about the other two? Will we need to dispose of them too?” The lady askes, flatly. 

“Thankfully, no. They always were healthier than the rest, probably from being a second generation. We were quite fortunate that they’re different genders.” The man responds, sounding almost eager. What does that mean? Why would it matter that they’re different genders? Unfortunately I might never get the answer, because their voices get fainter as they move farther away. 

Oscar and I are different genders. He’s a boy and I’m a girl. So could they really be talking about us? And if they are, what did they do with the others? 

I crawl away from the door, heading across the freezing tiles to where Oscar is sleeping in a pile of blankets. 

“Oscar.” I whisper, afraid to startle him. He continues sleeping, unmoved. Annoyed, I begin to shake him. I just can’t sleep until I talk to somebody about this! “Oscar, wake up!” I cry out, as loud as I can without drawing the attention of the monsters. He jerks up, squinting at me through the darkness. 

“What time is it?” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes. I guess he’s still groggy because we haven’t had access to clocks since the day we came here. 

“It’s still night. But I need to tell you something important, so I need you to be awake with me!” I explain, frantically. 

“I don’t care how much your stomach hurts…”he begins, his eyes closing. 

“It’s not that! It’s about the others.” He opens his eyes again, interested.

“What about the others? Did one of them come back?”

“No. I don’t think so. But I was leaning against the door and I heard the monsters talk about them! Or at least it sounded like it was about them and us. They were talking about how they did something to them and how they were sick and how the monsters won’t get rid of us cause we’re different genders or something!” I say hurriedly. I gasp for breath, glad to have told someone. He frowns. 

“They were sick for a long time.” He mutters, staring at the floor.

Yes, all of them had dark circles around their eyes from lack of sleep because coughing kept them up all night. They were also unusually skinny despite all the food we were fed. But I guess I didn’t think of it that much until now. All they ever really were was friends. 

In my old home, my mother had a small, sparse garden. One day I watched as she threw away a wilted flower. Even though it was wilted I remember asking why she threw it away. She told me that the flower had gotten sick and eventually died. Like flowers, humans can probably wilt too. So did that mean that because my friends were sick…

My stomach churns. I wish I had been born deaf so I couldn’t hear a single word anyone ever said. To be blissfully unaware of the fear and dangers of this world. But most importantly, so that I would never have heard the monsters through the door. 

“They’re not coming back.” I state, something hot and wet running down my cheek. That should’ve been a question, but somehow it feels true. Oscar doesn’t say anything, his eyes glossy. 

I cling to him, grabbing onto the silky fabric of his shirt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why they were so sick or why they’re not coming back. The only thing I do understand is that right now in this room without the voices of my friends, this is the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.