Last Words of a Severed Star

Five Questions

     "Hi there, you on the table." A man's voice shook the young girl on the table from her rest, shakily lifting her torso up, "I wonder if you'd mind taking a brief survey?" The blinked the bleariness out from her eyes, feeling knots in her stomach. "Five questions." The man added before going silent once more.

     The girl sat up, legs curled to the side of her body, looking at the speaker in front of her, "Hello?" She called out, then softly winced under her breath, arms holding her stomach softly.

     "Hi." The man called back, quiet for a moment more before speaking up again, "Now, I know you're sleepy, but I bet it'll make you feel right as rain." He said with a happy ring to his tone.    After not receiving an answer from her, he spoke up again, "Are you feeling alright?" He questioned seemingly not from whatever script he was reciting beforehand.

      Before she could ask who he was, she cut herself off from speaking, throwing up onto the table, coughing afterwards and feeling that sting in the back of her throat, along with the foul taste in her mouth. She cleared her throat softly and then spit onto the table, trying to get the taste out from her mouth and wiping her mouth with the dark green sleeve of her shirt. "Who are you..?" She asked, voice scratchy and groggy, whether from sleep or vomiting, most likely a mixture.

       It took a couple seconds, then he responded, "I'd be delighted to answer that after the survey." He said, earning a slight scoff from the girl on the table. She weakly got off of the table, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and looking around the room, softly wiping her hands onto the black dress pants she had on.

     She walked to the door and grabbed the handle, trying to open it twice, before speaking up again. "I'd like to go home, please." She said, facing the door, hazel eyes looking at the door.  "Hello?" She mumbled to the door, bringing a hand up and knocking on the door softly.
     "I'd love to chat after you take the survey." He restated.

     "I don't want to take a survey, I want to go home..." She mumbled, resting her forehead onto the door.

     "Please, just five questions." He insisted. "Shall we begin with question one?"

     The girl sighed softly and turned around, sliding down the door, sitting on the floor with her back against it, "Okay." She mumbled, sighing and continuing to hold her stomach softly.

     "Great!" The man said, chipper at her complying, "Off we go. Now to start, who are you?"

     She thought for a couple seconds, furrowing her eyebrows, "Wait–"

     "It's okay, if you don't know feel free to say, 'unknown'."

     "What did you do to me..?" She mumbled, turning and looking at the door behind her again.

     "Okay, unknown."

     "Why aren't you answering me?" She asked.

     "Question two, in which US state or territory were you born in?"

     The young girl stood up, "I know you can hear me!" She yelled at the door, to which she didn't get a response and took off one of her black shoes and raised her arm, striking the door handle with the thick heel of her shoe.

     "There's no need for violence." The man's voice came through the speaker again, "Which US state or territory were you born in?" He repeated himself.

     "I don't know!" She yelled, still holding her shoe in her hand, turning around and looking at the camera on the ceiling, looking into it for a second before looking back to the floor, placing a hand on her stomach again, swearing under her breath, the pain lingering.

     "Unknown." He stated, "Question three, please name any US state or territory."

     "I already said I don't know." She responded.

     "First that comes to mind."

     "Fuck," She mumbled, dropping her shoe and hugging her stomach gently, sitting back on the floor and bringing her knees up, trying to make her stomach hurt less, "Illinois?" She answered after a second, swallowing and coughing slightly.

     "Illinois." He parroted back, "Question four, what's Mr. Eagan's favorite breakfast?"

     She furrowed her eyebrows at the query, "Who?"

     "Unknown." He answered for her, "Last question, what is or was the color of your mothers eyes?"

     She shook her head slightly, staying quiet and sitting on the floor, feeling the knots in her stomach again, worse than last time and feeling the acid in the back of her throat.

     "What is, or was, the color of your mothers eyes?" The man repeated himself again.

     "I don't know, please just let me out." She asked again, closing her eyes and softly bringing a hand to her face.

     "Unknown." He answered again, "So, that's unknown, unknown, Illinois, unknown, unknown, correct?"

     "I don't know–"

     Suddenly, the door opened, revealing a man, sometimes in his forties, in a suit with hair nicely combed and styled to perfection. "That's a perfect score." He states, looking down at the girl, curled up on the floor with her back against the wall, looking up at him with wide, hazel eyes. He moved and sat at the table, gesturing for her to sit in the seat across from him, which she complied to after a couple seconds, looking at him incredulously. He cleared his throat to begin talking again, only for her to interrupt.

     "Who are you?" She asked softly, her voice quiet, "Sorry." She added after, knowing she had cut him off from him about to start talking.

     "My name is Mark." He answered hesitantly like he wasn't sure he was allowed to, "And you," He began, flipping through the pages in his guide again, pointing at it when he found it, "You are Clementine, Clementine H, to be exact." He told her with a soft smile.

     "Okay..." She mumbled, giving him a soft nod, looking down at the large table.

     "Okay." He responded, skipping back to the page he was originally on. "Thank you for taking the welcome survey. I can sense that the questions made you feel afraid or disoriented. Well, the good news is, you're at an orientation." He said, looking back at her face with a warm smile.

     Clementine stared at him for a second, arms still around her stomach, "I feel sick." She mumbled, looking at him.

     Mark gave her a slight nod, "um..." He hummed, flipping through his book to look for something, then glancing back up at her again. "I'm going to continue and if you feel too nauseous we can stop, if that would be okay with you?" He said, not getting a response, to which he decided to just continue speaking, "Okay... You see, you have been hired to a position on the Severed Floor of Lumon Industries." He continued, smiling at her again.

     "What does that mean?" She asked.

     "What?"

     "'Severed floor', what does that mean?" She asked again, watching him look back at his binder and flip through it again, "Is that, like, a manual or something?"

     "I understand you're confused about the severance procedure." He started, not bothering to acknowledge her question about the binder, "Before we hop on that, let's chat about something I bet you have heard of, the work/life balance–"

     Before Mark could continue with his spiel, Clementine projectile vomited onto the table, two times in a row, getting it on her shirt, his shirt, the table and the papers of the binder he was reading from. After it happened, she began coughing again, "I'm so sorry." She said, beginning to cry, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, coughing against it while Mark looked between the now wet papers of the binder and the fresh stomach bile on his blazer.

     "It's okay, it's okay, um..." Mark mumbled, this clearly being something that had never happened before, "Look, this is my second time doing this, please just stay where you are." He said, looking at her disheveled state, standing up. "Irving!" He yelled, the door opening and revealing an older man, also in a suit.