Sense #WeAreDystopia

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

I stand and approach the centre of the room where one hundred matching chairs and trays are aligned. I pass by 4, 5, 6 and 7. I reach 10 and stop at 11. I would kill to know my name instead of this stupid number. It makes me feel insignificant, average, like I'm one of many copies.

But if we're all the same why do we need specific chairs and ... injections? Why, out of all these syringes, we only get a specific one each? One Hundred's voice breaks the silence, interrupting my thoughts. 'Chickened out, did ya, shit-face?' he asks out loud and his two lackeys burst into laughter.

'If you're so brave why don't you go before me?' I ask back. I can feel the tension building up as he decided whether or not to rise to the challenge.

'Nah, I'm good,' he replies, anxiety painted all over his ugly mug. 'I'd rather watch you die than the other way round.'

I catch myself smiling. He is scared. Another motive to keep me going.

My fingers find the syringe and I grab it just before I sit down. I have to locate a vein near the inside of my elbow. That's the hardest part. I tap with my fingers, I stare intensively and when I'm sure I've found one, I plunge the needle underneath my skin. The rest comes easy.

I feel an instant rush through my arteries, I can hear my blood pumping, a loud, rhythmic thud in my ears. The hairs on my arms and back rise as goose bumps appear all over them, making me quiver. It's a burning sensation in my lungs, an awakening feeling in my brain, wings under my feet. I get up. And I feel nothing again.

Almost every person within the room is looking at me. I straighten my back and look back at them, each one of them, my gaze stopping at Thirty-seven. He has a triumphant smile on his face, like I just came first in a marathon, swaying past the finish line. And then I look at Sixteen. Her eyes are wide with angst. She's scratching the back of her neck. She's ... worried? Could that be it?

'How are you feeling?' she blurts out the minute I walk by.

'Um ... not much changed. In fact, nothing changed,' I say, let down by the seemingly magic juice.

'Liar,' Ninety-five spits.

'Excuse me?' I wonder, offended.

'You're acting like you felt nothing. Like you didn't ... change! You felt the zap too, didn't you?' he asks like interrogating me.

'Um, what zap, exactly?' I ask, still not sure what "zap" I should have felt.

'that sting man, in your gut. Wait, you didn't feel it?' he asks again. Too many questions. I have to lie down. I need to.

I reach the wall and my back bumps onto it. I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor and close my eyes for a moment. I breathe in and out, trying to block the words, the questions of those surrounding me. Did I feel a zap? Did I imagine that sudden energy rush, overflowing my lungs?

I take my mind off of that and focus on what comes naturally. Oddly, the first thing that comes up is a smell. It's heavy and nasty, like a grey cloud hovering above us all. And strangely enough I can tell exactly what it is. It's fear. I can sense it; I can smell it. It's the burden of fear each and every person in this room carries on their shoulders. Is this normal? Has this happened to me before? Is it a symptom from the drug?

Could I just be imagining things? I could. But I don't think that's the case here.

I am desperate to try and focus on something else. Anything else. I detect a small group of people approaching the trays, looking for their doses of the mysterious drug. I try to stand but fall back down, as if my fuzzy head has weakened my hands and legs. I see a short girl with shiny red hair sit on one of the chairs while another girl helps her with the syringe. The first girl is holding her own hand, squeezing it tightly.

A moment passes and the girls switch places. I'm feeling calmer now. I start getting up again but when I lift my head to look up I only see the body of a girl lying on the ground, her shiny red locks flat against the floor like a welcome mat. I stand and shake off my worries. I'm ready for some answers.

I walk over to the fallen girl, Sixteen and Thirty-seven walking by my side. I step up to her and see two guys helping her up. 'I'm fine,' she says. 'I'm fine, really. I just ... got dizzy.'

I know that feeling. And as much as I wish I didn't recognise it, I do. I'm trying to put the pieces together when I feel a hand touching my arm. It's Sixteen 'I want to do it too,' she says and I raise my eyebrows. 'Will you help me?'

I look at her, then at Ninety-five across the room and then back at her. 'Why don't you ask him to help you?' I ask, not sure why.

She sighs before looking back at me, a painful moment of silence. 'Will you help me or should I ask Thirty-seven instead?' she asks and I reply with a question.

'Are you sure it's the right thing? Whatever happened to her could happen to you, you know.'

'I know. That's partly why I wanna do it. I'm tired of waiting around, okay? We have to do something. It might as well be what they tell us.'

Sixteen has a point. This might be the only way for us to progress and find out more about what the drugs do. 'Fine,' I say. 'I'll help you out. Let's find your designated seat,' I conclude and it pains me.

I may just have agreed to help her kill herself.

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