The Establishment

Chapter 1

A perfect depiction of my worst nightmare. Dis-describable in words. Although I have tried, perhaps a dozen times...though most likely, I have lost count. I am unable to conjure up the exact moments, having a spectacle of expanctacy for me to do so; is simply foolish. Unheroic to a degree. For some reason, people nowadays are so desperate to be the 'hero' of the generation. As if though they believe it to be some reward, it's no more but a curtain draped over the unmissable reality that they are lonely. Loneliness is not unusual here. If anything, to have friends is 'freakish'. Although the odd 'peep-hole' brings a wave of comfort, it's an illusion to the simple fact that we are not friends. We are fighting, through our bodies to survive. And if we turn to care more for the fiend on the other side of such stone, cold walls...we may simply be the rat.

I learnt this the difficult way, as many of us turn out to do so at Direson. The word 'easy' is removed from our vocabulary to the very point that if spoken it's as unusual and 'ghostly' as the word 'freedom'. UC-37 occupied the room to my left, not so long ago. And I soon discovered that if you forced your whole body weight against the wooden desk on either side, you would find a small, accidental 'peep-hole'. Potentially earlier UCs had rammed a pencil through consistently, or even a mistake by the Mother's when building the establishment. Nonetheless, it existed. And to some degree, I wish it hadn't. UC-37 didn't speak much, they kept to themself mainly, and even though the hole was nowhere near large enough to see through, you could surely listen well enough - not that the walls were that thick to begin with. UC-37 had a routine, something that I hadn't. I found early on that routine drove many mad. You would lose count of days, seasons, and eventually years. As birthdays were no different to your average Tuesday. You were left to your admissions to find them out yourself, by counting the wrinkles that slowly formed upon your face, or the amount of hair you had grown in parts; comparing them to the 'week' before. Anyway, UC-37 had succumbed to the 'beloved' myth that routine was a blessing. Most likely due to the fact their Mother had strongly advised them to do so, to keep them quiet. Which worked.

After Visitation, and Unlockment, I would hear UC-37 walk over to their window, and stay there for about 40 breaths, before pacing towards the entrance door and tapping to see if they were alone, I assumed. Depending on the day, it would vary from 3 to 5 taps. If it came to 5, I myself would situate myself under the desk, press my mouth against the 'peep-hole', and whisper unknowing comfort. To which they would respond: covering the hole with their body - as the light disappeared from the other end. They would never reply with their words. To the point, I even theorized that they had been cut - a sickly punishment that involved the removal of one's tongue. But the thought never lingered, perhaps because it was too horrid of an image to have in one's head, or because UC-37 couldn't have been more than 11 years old. As they were new. And only one lockment of seasons had passed since their arrival.

Days would continue like that. Visitation each morning, followed by Unlockment. UC-37 at the window for precisely 40 breaths, along to the door...until 6 taps. I had dashed under the desk, briefly scraping my knees on the concrete. My voice submitting to much more than a whisper, dare I say something that could result in myself being cut. But I simply didn't care in that moment. My mistake. I had fallen into the trap of caring more for the fiend-on-the-otherside. A 'curse' that potentially could cost me my life. But I hadn't cared. UC-37 was someone who offered me familiarity, their routine had fed my unpredictability. And that offered me comfort. To the degree that a sudden change in taps from 5 to 6 caused my heart to pause, my breath to hitch and a nibble of my lips turn more to a pierce. Drawing blood along my mouth, as my eyes refused to blink in the slight chance the hole opened more and I missed the movement of the fiend I had come to care for so dearly. As I cradled there, listening intently. I whispered, "Hello?" A scream. It followed closely from my unnerved questioning. Causing me to fall back, not just in shock, but to the fact it caused the brick wall to shake and shudder. Dust falls from under the desk and gets caught up in my frame. I ignored it. Attempting to tap on the wall. 1...2...3 Nothing. I could hear sobbing, movement, as the metal door unhinged on the other side and footsteps became entangled and more series of screams accompanied. My taps increased. 1...2...3...4...5 I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen, for the clutter and clatter on the other side must have woken all of Direson, and my foolish, pathetic taps would not dare to be heard. But they had. As only a few days later, my Mother doubled my shot.

UC-37 was soon replaced. And the 'peep-hole' that once offered me some comfort, had been sealed, and my desk drilled into the concrete. It wasn't unusual for children to be taken early, and if you dared ask the others in the courtyard about it on weekly, they would simply shun your questions away. Most of the time because they were afraid, or even because they didn't want to waste their 1,000? Breaths on such a wasteful conversation. As we know the result. UC-37 was taken early, and that was that. You don't come close with the others, and I wish, myself had sealed that 'peep-hole'.