A song is always in my head. Whether I'm running or drawing or tying back my hair or trying to get just a fraction of sleep, there is always a little tune in my mind, words or lyrics or just notes repeating over and over again as I repeat the action. I would be running, and with each step, I would think of one word in the song, and then a couple more lyrics and words, until I would eventually repeat it again. My mother would hold me in her arms, the sun dappled and the wood of the porch glowing a rich brown in the warm light. She would smile, her dark skin gleaming and shiny, and then push a bit of hair from my eyes and tuck it behind my ear. 'Love, you have such a great mind. All of those little notes and melodies will create the greatest symphonies ever thought of. What a beautiful young voice you have, little bird. Fly away in those harmonies and that music of yours. Fly away, little bird.'
The memory of the porch and the patio brought a smile to my face, so I turned it downwards, focusing on my paperwork. Here, smiles would be considered a sin. Here, you best not give other people hope of a less dreary light by just letting them view your shine. Don't show people hope and love and happiness because that would just be mean, just be teasing them and toying with their feelings.
I was sitting in a small room, with two other people. The walls were all white here, and I was sitting at a small black stool in front of a long white table covered with brown files. I rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat, feeling vastly uncomfortable in this cheap plastic material, right over my gray sweater-vest and black jeans. I pinned up the sleeves with a small and bent metal paperclip, and then got back to working on the vials in front of me, emitting a greenish hue. There were little inscriptions on each vile, and a stack of notes written about them, in a little messy stack on the side. I was sitting in the middle of this v-shaped table, a guy to my right and a girl to my left. I had yet to learn their names, for unnecessary talk was strictly prohibited. That and I was extremely socially awkward. It might have been a blessing that with the new era, people were not supposed to gather in groups, and unnecessary talk was something that no one wanted to risk.
I turned towards the microscope, and placed my eye to it. I was one of the many scientists working here. People like me who showed special aptitudes in science and mathematics were brought here, to the capitol, where we were told to work without asking any questions. We were only given the information needed to complete the tasks, and nothing more. They took me here when I was in primary school. They never let me pack any of my things, as soon as I finished the survey, they dragged me into a van and brought me away. They never gave me a chance to say any goodbyes, not that I would have anyone to say goodbye to. My mother had died in a neighborhood shooting when I was just six, my father nothing more than a nameless and faceless thing that had brought me to life, and then decided not to be a part of it. I had lived in a couple foster homes, 7 to be exact, and kept running until they ran out of homes and placed me in an orphanage. I had no friends there, was forced to wear bleak tones and little to no colors, and slept in a small bedroll in a small room with 20 other children.
I adjusted the microscope until the strand of DNA came into focus. My supervisor had asked me to analyze it for anomalies, or unusual factors. I ran my eyes down it. It would have been impossible to see it, but I had it dyed red just hours ago. I kept looking, and then decided that, to see it in focus, I would need to photograph it and look on the computer. I held the small black camera to the microscope lens, and then took a photo. The cord hanging from the camera connected to the computer, and the image was directly uploaded and shown on the big screen.
I swiveled in my stool, and took the mouse, focusing the image until I was able to distinguish the separate compounds in the DNA strand. I double clicked, bringing it into fullscreen, and bent back the computer screen so it was angled upwards. I grabbed the small touchscreen pen, and began circling the different parts and writing notes on the side. I ran down the lines of DNA, and then I reached an anomaly. It was a chemical that was not normally produced by the human body. I double tapped the image of the DNA strand, and stood up, walking to the see-through whiteboard and then double tapped on the whiteboard, making the strand of DNA appear on the whiteboard in perfect clarity.
I wrote on the clear board with my white dry-erase marker, outlining the components of the DNA that were anomalies based off of a regular sample of human DNA. I looked at them, and realized that, connected to these strands of DNA, was not a new substance, yet a group of molecules combining in ways never before. I started writing down the elements it contained, frantically scribbling with my dry-erase marker.
I walked over to my desk and opened a new document on my computer. I added the images, double clicking and dragging from the tab on the zoomed in image of the strand of DNA. I then added the names of all of the elements that weren't supposed to be there, the molecular anomalies, and wrote about three paragraphs on each.
I kept writing until my fingers were sore, until even that watered down coffee ration- black, I had always liked black coffee- could not keep my eyes open for long enough to focus on the computer screen in front of me. All of my labmates had retired to our small, shared room, where my middle bunk would be waiting for me. They had been given less work, less papers, and less compounds to analyze. I guess it made since, I have been training and working here since I was just in elementary school, and the two whom I hadn't even bothered to learn the names of had came here just 6 months ago, and had only started working in the lab and sharing a room with me for barely more than 2 weeks.
I finally finished the paper, feeling all the more satisfied when I typed off those last couple words, and clicked send, giving it off to my supervisor to analyze and likely complain. This work was tiring and I never even got a day off, but it was better than working in the mines or in one of those dusty old factories, where the smog never cleared and the air kept giving a large majority of the workers terminal diseases. I never saw outside or even the sun here, but it was probably not anything too memorable, with everything that had happened to the earth, I could imagine that it was hardly more than a bleak little speck of yellow in a swath of dark grays and browns that the people who lived here had learned to call a sky. I shoved my fingers into my head, feeling my hair neatly pulled back into a ponytail, bouncy curls contained and manageable. My fingers ran through my scalp and massaged it, and I could feel my eyebrows pressed together and my eyes scrunched up in my head. I finally lifted my head from my hands to gaze at the small, rectangular, analog clock with the red numbers, sitting on the corner of my desk, just a reminder that, no matter how long I stared at or waited for my shift to end or waited for my break, it would not change the fact that I was stuck here forever, no matter what the time on that clock read. When my vision finally stopped drooping and falling across the room, my eyes focused on the time, and slowly, the blur around the numbers faded just so I could read them. 4:00- not that bad, I was actually expecting it to be much later, maybe all of my colleagues decided to leave early- 4:00 AM. Shit. I groaned, and pushed myself up from the elbows, finding my footing like a clumsy fawn. I stumbled to the door, where I practically flung myself into it and sank into the handle, turning it.
With one finally thrust and a tired groan, I pushed the door open, clumsily crossing my legs and letting my ankles turn inwards. I barreled into one of the sleek white walls of the hallway, lit only by a flickering LED cleverly hidden between the roof and the wall. I dragged my arms across it, half laying against the wall, and half stumbling and tittering forwards. I probably looked like a zombie, something without a mind with only one goal in life- to eat brains. I nearly chuckled at this thought, but my breaths came out like just a wheeze instead. I guess this is what I get from staying up from 5:00 AM to 4:00 AM the next day just to finish a paper because otherwise you would have to complete it the next day and your supervisor would antagonize you and purposefully give you more work than usual because you need to compensate for all of her other needs and meetings and she wouldn't postpone anything because you should have done it earlier.
I kept stumbling until I reached the panel labeled with a neat little 405b in platinum on the very front in a nice little neat font. I put my hand where a handle would normally be, and then punched in the excessively long code. 6-7-8-9-0-5-4-3. Wait, no. 6-7-9-0-1-4-7-8. Wrong again. The pad flashed red and I banged my head softly across the panel to stifle the scream of boiling rage and sleep deprivation building in my throat. Finally, my fingers matched my brain and I entered the right code. 3-2-5-1–1-3-5-3. The lock pad beeped green and the panel sunk an inch into the hallway. I pushed it at the right side, and it flung open inwards.
My quarters were modest, to put it nicely. The main room was only 4 feet wide and 8 feet long, with three beds built on top of eachother in cubby holes in the left handed wall. On the right wall, there was a mini fridge and a closet. Everything here was made of a fresh, white, always clean, material. In the very back, there was a small door that opened into a bathroom, complete with a small shower and an even smaller toilet and sink. It was nearly impossible to stay in here, living with three people, and I could never get out, because loitering in the hallways was strictly prohibited, and gathering in groups, no matter how small or large, if unauthorized by the captain of security or the commander of sciences, was strictly prohibited and was punished with pain, incarceration time in the underground jail, or, if given a reason, death. You have to be careful here. Speak the wrong words about the wrong thing to the wrong someone and you could find yourself at trial and maybe, if you were lucky, a public execution. I had always made sure my steps were light, that I barely spoke, and remained the least likely target for the abuse and beatings when the Guard took out their anger on us.
One of my roommates, sleeping on the bottom bunk, woke up, waved his hand in front of his face, bringing up the blanket with it, and grumbled something about me never letting him sleep in peace. I was too tired to formulate any retort to this comment, so I just shrugged off my lab coat and hung it on one of the coat hangers on the back of the door. I closed the door and walked to the closet, in just my gray overalls. I quickly took them off, glancing at my bunkmates to make sure that they were asleep and not looking. I unbuttoned the overalls in the front, and squeezed my shoulders out of the top part, then shimmied out of the leg parts, having previously left my slippers at the door. I took off my bra and underwear, replacing them with more comfortable garments for sleeping, and took out my nightgown, little more than a white length of fabric with two holes for arms and another for a head. I tightly bunched up my overalls and put them in the bin for clothes that I needed to wash, and figured to wear the same bra one last day. I finally pulled off my socks, and with one final sigh, chucked them into the bin, and started walking towards my bed, the one in the middle, sandwiched right in between my two very talkative and extroverted roommates. I pulled back the curtain, crawled into the bed, and then pulled it back over to give myself some privacy. I snuggled close into the sheets, shimmying all of the way into them. There was a cupboard at my back and a small bookcase by my feet, crammed full of romance books and a few music ones that I could get my hands onto. There was one, small, polaroid photo, taped to the top of my bunk, and every night, since I was brought here, I looked at it right before falling asleep. It was me and my mom, her head over one of my shoulders. We were both wearing party hats and there was a small cake in front of me, candles not even yet blown out. I looked so much younger, so much more innocent back then, before my life was taken away from me by somebody who didn't even know they were doing it.
I closed my eyes, and the hard mattress on my back felt like a little tuft of clouds and unicorn hair. I was still thinking about my memory of that photo when my brain slipped away into the floaty unthinking of my little dreamscape.
←*→
I awoke to the bright fluorescent lights beaming right above my head. I groaned, putting a hand up to shield my face, and half sat up in bed, touching my head to the bottom of the bunk right on top of me. I stretched my arms, feeling the creakiness in my bones with every rattling breath. I extended my legs right in front of myself, and yawned, wide and long, like a little cat, the pet that I had always wanted as a kid but never had been able to afford because they were too expensive to take care of. The white sheets and mattress cover of my bed shifted as I rotated my legs until they were hanging off of the edge, dangling and swinging side to side. I put my hands on the mattress, a stark contrast between dark and light, and slid off of the bed, careful to not swing my feet into the compartment below me or bang my head across the hard metal bed frame directly above me. My bare feet hit the ground with a soft thump, and I nearly jumped at the coldness of the smooth, clean white floor.
I walked like a zombie towards the drawer where I had all of my clothing, and pulled it open, revealing five v-neck plain white t-shirts, three pairs of long, flat white pants, two pairs of boxy white shorts, two pairs of plain white socks, two sleeping uniforms, seven pairs of plain white underwear, and just three plain white bras. I grabbed a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, some socks, and some underclothes, then walked sleepily towards the plain white door to the bathroom. Opening the door showed off one shower, shoved into the very far back section of the bathroom, a small toilet with a sink attached to the top and a mirror right above the sink, and a small, chic white cupboard that housed toiletries. The door slammed shut behind me as I kicked it closed, and then unceremoniously dumped all of my clothes onto the floor. I stripped off my nightgown and tossed it into a little bundle on the ground, then ripped open the clear shower curtain and turned on the water.
I nearly screamed as the cold, harsh water hit my skin, but contained it by biting my lip so hard that I feared it may bleed. I put my head full of dark, tightly coiled curls under the stream of water and waited until they were weighed down by the water as far as possible before I put my conserved shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp with my fingers. Everyone got a monthly supply of toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, etc.), and what you got differed on hair type, daily tasks, and rank in this society. The shampoo and conditioner that they had for curly hair barely did shit, but if I brushed my hair often enough and kept it in protective hairstyles, it kept it from becoming a rat's nest. I ran my hair back underneath the steady thrumming of the water, and waited until all of the shampoo was rinsed out, then grabbed the conditioner and put it in my hair, massaging it and then turning the shower off. I washed myself off with my towel, being careful to let the conditioner in my hair sit, then I wrapped it around myself and began brushing my hair. I used a wide-toothed detangler, brushing it out in sections until I deemed it okay. I then flipped my hair and ran it under the sink, washing out the rest of the conditioner, and combed it through once more before putting it up in a tight bun.
I put my clothes on, careful to not ruin the perfect bun right on the back of my head. I took one last look at myself in the stained and slightly cracked mirror. I had inherited my wider and more petite face shape from my mother, as well as my hooded almost-black eyes. My cheeks were always slightly rosy colored, and I had thinner lips and a small, button nose. I glanced at my look a final time and decided that this was the best I was going to get, then grabbed my bundled up nightgown and walked out the door. I tossed the nightgown into the basket, and walked towards the door, where my shoes and jacket were. It only occurred to me just then to look at the clock, positioned right on top of the dresser. It took my eyes a second to adjust to the bright red fluorescent of the clock, but when they did, I rubbed them and checked the clock again. 10:00 pm! Shit. I really needed to work on my time management issues. I was supposed to be at work literairilly hours ago, at 6 in the fucking morning.
I grabbed my white shoes, quickly laced them up, grabbed my lab coat, and burst out of the door, rushing down the hallway towards the lab.
The hallway was a blur behind me as I bolted, running by far one of the fastest and longest times in my life. Which wasn't saying much. I was always the kid chosen last in P.E., even though I was the strongest, I could not run to save my life. I kept running, my feet clicking and clammering across the shiny white floors.
I should have not slept. Even then I would be higher functioning than right now. I have gone days without sleep and managed to stay high-functioning. My brain worked like a machine- if I saved up enough sleep the days before, I could work rather well for days on nothing. However, if I got even an hour of sleep during that period, I would crash and be dreary and feel like shit for days afterwards. Had I not slept tonight, I would actually be fine.
I kept running, and felt the vibrations of each thud of my feet on the floor, an impact I still hadn't gotten used to. Like I said, I was never the athletic kid. Besides, the shoes I was wearing were not made for running. The soles had already started falling off within a year of my possession of them, and after five years, I used a spare string to lace them up and had patched all of the holes with construction tape. The soles had been glued and reglued onto the fabric of the shoes, causing the occupant to feel bumps whenever they wore them, and little white dried-up paste had been smeared on the sides, and left an ugly crust and collected random particles of dust and hair that I kept having to take off every day. Hopefully they would give me a new pair soon, or else I felt rather attracted to the idea of starting a fire in the cafeteria.
I finally neared my lab room, and sighed in relief. Well, not all relief. Running for five minutes straight had me leaning on my thighs and gasping for breath. I kept heaving, relishing the feeling of fresh air in my lungs. Procrastinating walking into the lab and having to face the stern and frightening look of my supervisor. Maybe that was the reason why I was 'catching my breath' for three minutes outside of the lab before heading inside. I gave myself one last bracing breath before I shifted into a better posture, back cracking, and moved my throbbing legs forwards and towards the door where my demise was most likely located.
I fastened my fingers around the cool metal handle, said one last prayer to the nonexistent heavens, and turned it. The mechanism clicked-I could feel the dread slithering down my spine, sending goosebumps all over- and I felt the door release. I squeezed my eyes shut one last time before pulling the door towards me, and myself for the worst.
What I was expecting was my supervisor standing in the middle of the lab, her thick black hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing a white button-up blouse tucked into a tight, deep red calf-length skirt, a heavy black overcoat thrown over her shoulders, contrasting to her darker olive skin- that part was true. What I was not expecting was for her thin lips to be in a small smile- not a soft one, mind you, a razor sharp one- and for her almond-shaped eyes to not be fixated on me with predatory hunger, but a more decent, not exactly wholesome, look. She had a clipboard held close to her chest, white pages slightly crumpled, like she didn't care what happened to them. That was new. My supervisor was always a very strict woman, firing her workers and sending them home with nothing more than the clothes off their backs for nothing more than turning in a few reports late and spilling a bit of water on the lab floors. That was why I had been so nervous- and still was- about not messing up around her, always clocking in on the dot and completing all of my work on time and handling everything with such care some would think I was performing heart surgery. This woman in front of me did not seem like that malevolent fire breathing bitch, no, she had a softness to her and such a calm and peace to her aura it genuinely scared me more than she ever had before. If that was what she was going for, she certainly was doing quite a good job at it.
She looked me up and down, taking in my rumpled clothes, messy bun, and crouched posture, then made a tutting noise. "Late, late, late. I would put that on your record, but, unfortunately, we have important things to do. Places to go-" she gave me an especially pointed look "- people to impress. Unless you want to be late-" she smiled and gripped her clipboard tighter, giving me the most poisonous smile I had ever seen "-again."
"What. What are you saying?" I asked, accidentally betraying a bit of emotion I had tried to conceal. I should have felt honored. My supervisor was coming here to tell me to meet some important people. Instead, I just felt pissed. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation talking. Looking back on it, that was probably the case. Nevertheless, I was still curious, my face likely showcasing everything to her like a detailed script.
"Walk now, ask questions later. Wait. Just don't ask them. They will all be answered soon enough." She cocked her head, and I very vividly imagined twisting it further. Infuriating woman.
She started walking towards the door, her black heels clicking on the crisp floor, "Now, I took the liberty of telling all of the other scientists to leave, so that you can gather your things. I hope you have them all by the time I exit this room." She started walking further towards the door, and I realized what she just said. That bitch. I ran around the room, gathering little photo snippets and keepsakes and files of my best work, stuffing it all into an empty plastic bag that I yanked off of one of the worktables. I almost bolted back towards her, when I remembered the photograph. I quickly turned on my heel and yanked open my desk drawer, almost ripping it off its hinges. I did not care. I yanked things out of the cabinets, searching for it, until my hands came across a familiar, smooth feeling. I tenderly lifted it out. A small instant-print from an old camera of my mother and I, pressed cheek-to-cheek and smiling.
I heard more footsteps, and realized I spent too long looking at the photo. I cursed myself, then bolted towards the door, managing to reach the doorway at just the moment her pointed black heel stepped out. I sighed with relief, only to realize that the she-devil was already halfway down the corridor. What was she? Crazy lady.
I power walked towards her, holding my bag close to my chest and fighting to put more air down my throat as I finally reached just behind her, and matched her pace, making sure to stay just slightly behind her, like an inferior, someone who she shouldn't give a second glance and dismiss as soon as she saw them. That was how I liked to stay. Nobody questions inferiors, doubts their movements, or notices them. It was perfect to be able to step into a room full of the largest power brokers in the world, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and deliver it to someone without a second glance, not noticing that they were taking in every little bit of information that the could, absorbing it like a sponge.
I opened my mouth to ask her a question, but, as if she was psychic, she drawled, "Ah! What did I say about speaking? All of your questions will be answered soon, dear. For now, it's best that you stay quiet."
Insufferable bitch.
I huffed my ways along the hallway, barely able to keep up with her pace. It didn't help that I had to twist my neck up to look at her face. I wasn't exactly short, just average, at 5'4. My supervisor must have been at least 5 '11, maybe 6 feet. That and the fact that she had the longest heels that I had ever seen.
Even though she said she was leading me somewhere, she seemed hell-bent on losing me. She took the most random turns and never stopped walking so fast that I couldn't walk to keep up with her but at the same time jogging was too fast, so I was stuck in this half-walk half-jog thing. The murky reflections of my feet and body on the floor were shifting and changing with each step, occasionally obscured by the rare piece of dirt, as I tried to keep up with this lady. I did too much cardio today.
We turned another corner, and came across a large metal door at the end of a very dimly lit hallway. Dirt was crusted along its edges, a light brown in comparison to the stark whites of the floor. Despite the dirt around it, the metal was surprisingly clean and shining- though I still had no Idea what it was- to the point where I could see my own reflection in it, shining and only barely distorted. It had one large handle on the right side, and there was a large circular piece of metal in the middle of the door. The door knocker I realized as my supervisor walked up to it, picked up the knocker, and pounded it very loudly on the door, once.
I stood to the side, fidgeting with my fingers, my hair, anything, awaiting whatever was on the other side of that door. My supervisor stood to the side of the door as well, her hands clasped in front of her abdomen.
After what felt like hours, the door creaked open, just enough for my supervisor to enter. I started walking towards the door, to go inside and see what it is we were waiting for, but it was slammed in my face.
←*→
I had my back slumped against the wall when the door opened. As soon as it had been closed in my face, I had walked back towards the hallway, pacing. Maybe this was a test. A challenge to see if I would leave or stick through waiting. If so, I was not intending to lose it. After my initial pacing, I had leaned against one of the walls, counting the tiles on the ceiling. Then, I slid to the ground, catching my white shirt on the molding. I had no watch, as they were very prized and costly, so there was no way to tell the time. I couldn't even hear the telltale rhythmic ticking of a nearby clock, which was surprising, as they were usually found in every room and hallway of this compound. I had just blinked, just closed my eyes once, and when I woke up, cheek pressed against the cold floor, dim lights ahead flickering, the door cracked open, and a man was standing in the doorway, blocking my view into the room behind him.
I scrambled upwards, pushing myself up from the cold floors, until I was slightly disheveled, but still standing, albeit with the help of the nearby wall. My hair had come undone sometime while I was sleeping, so I quickly yanked it back and tied it into a high ponytail.
The man stared at me, his expression giving away nothing but annoyance and glorious boredom. He was quite good looking, with muscular, light brown arms, slim eyes the color of black coffee, and a darker colored frizz on the top of his head. Despite how handsome he was, the half-lip he had pulled up- almost a snarl- changed his face to the point where it looked more evil, run hide scary that kiss me. He had a black t-shirt on, with large white capital letters in the front saying 'security' and beige khakis held up with a worn brown belt. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and I caught a glimpse of a watch on one of his wrists. A watch. He must be paid well to be able to afford a watch, likely private security. Which meant that whoever is behind that door must be either very important or very full of themselves. Either way it was dangerous.
"You will be seen now. Ma'am." He said the last word with such venom you would think that being polite was a crime.
He then turned around and walked through the doorway. I followed in suit, nervous of what awaited me behind Mr.Securityguardman. He finally cleared the doorway, letting me step inside onto the wooden floors. They were polished and covered in some sort of shiny acrylic, maybe chestnut or walnut. I wouldn't know. I had rarely seen wood in my life. Along with the wood panels, which must have cost a fortune, there was also blue paint on the walls around the room, and wooden cabinets lined the exterior of the large space. Office, I realized, as I took in the large wooden desk in the center of the room, with a ginormous crystal chandelier dangling over it, held together with gold wires and rods. Sitting behind the desk, on a red leather chair, was a man who looked not a day past thirty, with jet black hair, pale skin, and deep black eyes. He had his black-panted legs crossed over each other, and his black t-shirt pulled his whole outfit together effortlessly. He was dressed so dark compared to the rest of the room, and seemed so... out of place.
The door shut behind me and I was left here. Trapped with this man that looked like an angel of death. My fingers fidgeted, grasping for purchase as to not drown entirely, in a sea of madness- to be a grounding stone.
The man gestured with two long, manicured fingers for me to sit in the plush leather chair in front of him, and I started walking towards it, nervous of what awaited me there. With each footstep, my death sentence must become more immediate, I figured, glancing between the man and the chair with uncertainty. Better to not let it show- to put on a mask of indifference and appear to not care in the face of death.
My sneakers squeaked on the floor as I finally got close enough to the chair to pivot, I and slowly lowered myself down. My hands remained firmly on the armrests, ready to flee- to bolt if I sensed danger was upon me.
Instead of what I feared, the man only looked me in the eyes, obsidian chips boring into mine. He lifted his slender pale hands to his face, with two fingers touching each-other, then lowered them to the desk.
"I have a proposition for you."