Sense #WeAreDystopia

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After eating we try to rest, most of us failing miserably. Sixteen wanders aimlessly around the halls but I decide to head to the showers instead.

To my relief, the bathroom is empty and the only sound to be heard is that of my shoes against the tiles. I duck down and remove my shoes, setting in by the main door since the floor looks clean and spotless.

My feet touch the cold tiles one after the other and I feel chills running up my spine. I reach one of the showers, hidden behind a glass, reflective cubicle, like coated with mirrors. I step inside and let the door close behind me. My hands fumble around and I find the tap, turning it to "hot" without a second thought. I take my shirt off in a second, lifting it above my head and I pull my pants down, walking away from them as they remain wrinkled on the floor.

The steamy water warms me up, embracing my body and I finally feel relaxed for the first time ever since I woke up in here. The glass around me fogs up and I simply stand then, submerging my body and face under the hot water. I feel cleaner and cleaner by the passing minute. I am weightless, as if a burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

My eyes spot an unused soap bar, just below my eye-level. It doesn't take me long to use it. Its lemony, fresh scent brings one of my memories back to life.

The background is blurry but I'm almost certain I'm inside a kitchen. Perhaps that of my home. The scent of lemons is very vivid and I turn my head to locate its source. To my right, there's a sink, and in front of it stands a woman with her back turned to me. I feel a connection. Could she be ... my mother? Do I have a mother? I stand up from a chair and head to her direction but I still can't see her face. The rest is fuzzy, like shaky footage from a camera. I see a smile but do not recognise a face. That memory slips away and I'm empty again, under the dripping water.

Maybe If I touch the soap again, if I smell it once more... But that doesn't work and I almost slip at the corner of the shower. I take a moment to compose myself. The most important part is getting dry, getting dressed and going to sleep. That's what I try to convince myself, even though the shower feels absolutely rejuvenating.

I find a towel big enough to dry my entire body and I only run my fingers through my wet hair, shaking it, covering the nearby mirror in droplets. I get dress inside the shower, not daring to walk out all the way to my bed in just a towel. No matter how good I look without clothes on.

As I walk back inside the common room, I catch a few people look at me but I stare straight ahead, not breaking my pace. I pass right by Sixteen and Thirty-Seven. 'What are you two doing? Why are you still up?' I ask, receiving no answer. 'Whatever, I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Things ... might be easier for us if we listen to them once in a while,' I recommend, pointing a finger at a camera at the word "them".

The same question pops into my head. 'Who are they?'

My feet start for the bedroom once more and I pass more and more flocks of people chattering like birds. They're all restless. I feel less alone, yet equally nervous. I find a random pod and decide to sleep there since nobody is sleeping or standing close. I curl my body into a foetal position, shutting my eyes closed like a little child scared of the monsters under its bed. I must look ridiculous. But I couldn't care less. I have to ... I ... I have to sleep...

Only a couple hours later, an alarm wakes me up.

On your feet, I tell myself. On your feet!

I get up the second time and the room is almost empty. Everyone is sluggishly moving toward the living room where I can now see the screens have lit open. The annoying guy whose name keeps slipping my mind does not appear this time. Instead, instructions are written on the screen, in red, threatening letters. One Hundred takes on the job of reading them out loud without being asked.

'This is the first test you are to complete. The subjects who fail to complete the test will be eliminated. Your task is to cross the arena that is located in the next room from start to finish without triggering any of the detectors. Each subject will be given one chance and one chance only to pass the test.' One Hundred stops reading but I'm still holding my breath.

The words "task, arena, eliminated, subjects" keep overlapping inside my head and I can't stand not knowing any longer. I'm scared but fears are meant to be conquered after all. I search for Thirty-seven and Sixteen to find them only a few steps behind me. We exchange looks and I'm sure they have realised I want to go ahead and check out what danger lies for us in the next room.

I take several steps when a new thought enters my mind. If we're not supposed to trigger those detectors ... and all of us are given just one chance, perhaps it would be wiser to be one of the last people to enter the "arena". I bite my lower lip nervously. Everyone's seen me walk to the front and I don't feel like giving up so easily. But I must. If I don't want to risk my life.

One Hundred watches me retreat with a smile on his face but I know for a fact he will not make the first move either. He doesn't seem this naive. But no one else makes a move either and we all stand there aimlessly, waiting for someone else to step into the room of uncertainty.

Five minutes pass almost completely silently. People talk with whispers, most of them eager yet hesitant at the same time. At once, the speakers open and I dread the words that are to come out.

'The deep, manly voice echoes all over the four walls. 'Since none of you is cooperating, the first one up for the challenge is number one,' he states and a gasp comes from my far right. 'The following ones are two, three and so on until the order is complete. Those who pass the task will be rewarded with remaining here. Those who fail it will be ... discarded.' The voice stops and I have a lump in my throat.

I know what "discarded" means. I had hoped they would let us go but apparently those who fail will be killed. A high-pitched sob grabs my attention. A girl is weeping. She must be one of the first numbers. But then again, my number's not that far from the start either. Should I be panicking? Probably not. Am I panicking? 

Now I am.