TEST ME

Lisa.

In the beginning, I was alone. I remember the four white walls that made up my cage, seemingly shrinking as I grew. I've been here for as long as I can remember – I'm told I was born in a cell similar to this one and was separated from my mother once I became less reliant on her. Of course, this was removed from my memory a long time ago – children born in prisons always become Test Subjects: a way for scientists to experiment on the human population with reduced moral arguments. People turn a blind eye: rather me than them. And they can't be blamed. If I was raised among society, I'm sure I would be just the same, because they don't know what its like to be here, isolated.

I have only ever touched the concrete around me.

I don't have any family.

I don't know what real life is like.

I probably never will, as this is the life of a Test Subject.

But now, now things are changing. I can feel it. The screen that has taught me basic interactions, science, maths, how to speak, how to treat other people – it hasn't activated for a week. Normally I get lessons for an extended period of my day, but not recently. Maybe I've been told all I need to know? Maybe I'll finally get to leave this room? Who knows. The idea of my exit both scares and excites me – I want with all my heart to leave this hellhole, but I don't know if life is everything I dream it is. The other unthinkable possibility is that they've given up on me, in which case I'm sure they'll find some way to turn my demise into an experiment. How long can we freeze her before she takes her final breath? How little do we have to feed her in order to keep her alive? Ugh. Sometimes I just want to swallow my plastic spork.

Something else that worries me is that I've only ever been taught by the screen – I haven't had to apply it to real life, and to be honest I don't know how to. I've never experienced life among other people; I've been ostracised since birth.

My reverie is interrupted by the flash of the screen activating, and I focus my eyes on it, attentive, eager to absorb more information. Normally, the screen goes blue before a voiceover introduces me to whatever it wants to spout at me today. However, this time I am confronted by a series of faces, each taking up a small portion of the screen. They're all not looking directly at the camera, and I can see the screen reflected in their eyes – they must be other Test subjects – for once, I'm not alone, even though we're all split by screens.

This revelation causes me to gasp, and I squint in annoyance as a blonde girl on the screen does the same. This deepens as she copies my scrutiny. After a wave of my hand, I realise this girl is me: long blonde hair (no haircuts given here – in this way it's difficult to differentiate between the boys and the girls) and bright green eyes peering out from a set of high cheekbones and bushy eyebrows. As this is the first time I am seeing myself, I am infatuated by my own appearance – I am vaguely aware that thick eyebrows are undesirable for a girl, but it's not like I can do anything about it. Instead, I begin to scan the other faces on the screen. Only a two stick out to me:

A boy gazes at the screen from his small section at the top left. His long red hair is curly and bright, taking on the appearance of fire. His emerald eyes are held up by freckles, beginning at each eye and meeting across his nose. The mere number of them is mesmerising, but combined with his full lips, eyes and hair, he is intoxicating. I hold my breath at his beauty and force myself to move on.

I spot a girl with dark hair and minimalistic features: small lips, eyes, and face. She is the only one not looking at the screen, instead she lies against the far wall with her eyes closed, lips parted and looking up at the ceiling. This sparks to me as odd – one of the most consistent things in her life changes and she pays no attention to it. Or maybe she only appears to be.

Some basic math tells me that there are thirty faces peering at me – we must be a small portion of the Test Subjects in the Country.

The screen goes blank – not turned off, but not showing anything – for a second, then the click of a microphone tells me someone is about to speak:

"Test Subjects, tomorrow everything will change; you will leave your private cells and come together into one home, as a group, for your next phase of testing. If you survive the next three months, we are obliged to release you: you will leave this facility and reintegrate into society. Those not deemed fit for reintegration will be eliminated. Finally, our next stage of Testing will begin. Good luck, and enjoy, Subjects!" This instruction is delegated with a light, soft voice, masking a harsher undertone behind it. Seconds later, I hear the click that signifies the microphone switching off, and the screen dies.

I huddle in the corner of my little prison, unable to stop thinking about tomorrow. Three more months and I am free. Three more months, and I could be like the people I watch on the screen. Three. More. Months.

I don't even budge when the hatch at the base of one of the walls slides open, presenting me with a grey plate, holding plain white meat and potatoes. Of course, it doesn't take me long to wolf down the food – if I don't eat, I starve (tried that – pretending to choke on food as a means of escape didn't work either) and the food is never pleasant, so it's best to just eat it quickly. Once done, I cram the plate back into the hatch, but keep the spork. Rather than damaging my nails by scratching on the concrete walls, I record my time here by the number of sporks I have. Periodically, my food is drugged in order for my 'keepers' to clean my cell and toilet, at which point they confiscate my current sporks – which is a bit of a nightmare, to be honest – resulting in me forcing my nails onto the wall. I always try and avoid this, but my sporks are continuously confiscated; one time, I worked out which day they would drug me on and created a "no" shape with the cutlery, yet they got taken just the same. If I've been doing this correctly, (bearing in mind I've been doing it since I was around four years old, so probably not) I have spent almost 650 weeks here, making me around seventeen.

My eyelids begin to sink, letting me know that today must be a drug day. Fun, fun. As I fall asleep, I think that this actually works in my benefit, because I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink tonight anyway.