Hypnosis

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. How was I supposed to remember? That heart pounded under my skin so fucking incessantly that I thought it would burst out of my chest, like it knew everything its owner had worked for was about to be swiped away in mere seconds. Yes, so I was blinded by emotion. I still remained loyal.

The moment I sensed Mrs. Russell might have been in danger, of course, I panicked. I spent nearly all my time with her, and it was just my luck that the moment I stepped away from her, tragedy struck. Now just how could I let that happen? God, at that moment she asked me to stay with her, but I left, so naturally, I beat myself up about the consequences of what almost was. But good news and bad news! Luckily, there was no threat to begin with. Mrs. Russell was fine. Mrs. Russell had never even screamed. On the other hand, I’m here now. I find it a bit excessive to be hooked up to this machine that beeps as loudly as my heart had pounded that day, but if its the help I need, I guess I have to get it. It puts a bit of a hindrance on my plans, but what can I say? I’m luckier than most.

Every authority and news outlet across the planet had made it utterly clear they are devastated there remains no cure available for hypnopompia. Perhaps I shouldn’t be completely surprised the Russells had regarded me as family enough to provide me with treatment not available to the general public. Maybe I am meant to be thankful. I, Iris Conco, have been hand picked by the gods to make it out of my tribulations while the others lay waste to the Earth! The Russells are Noah, and I am one of the few animals on the Ark. Yes yes, this is a good thing. And the Russells are good people.

* * *

“Good morning, Ms. Conco.”

Dr. Maslany looked like the man you’d expect to be on the cover of a magazine. That face on GQ alongside capitalized font spouting “10 tips to have a better sex life!” would sell a thousand copies. Whatever he was being paid doing now was not enough. But I can’t say that the long white coat didn’t suit him well.

“Doctor.”

“How are you acclimating to your new space?”

My room was nothing like those I’ve seen on Earth. Where white walls should be were patterned wallpaper and gold-framed impressionist paintings. And a goose-down comforter atop a queen-sized mattress took place of your standard white-sheet covered bed. I do have to say the machinery stuck out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless, the Russells sure set me up with this one, and like most things they gave me, I wasn’t going to be complaining about it.

“It’s great, thank you.”

“Well, your vitals are looking good, but as is with most Hypno patients. I’d want to start you off with 50 mg of olanzapine every day, twice a day, and see how that works. But what we recommend is keeping a daily journal. Whether you want to write down everything as it happens or everything at the end of the day is up to you, but it’s good to run by the stuff with the nurses in the morning. They’ll know what’s really happening around here.”

I doubted the expanse of the nurses’ knowledge. Being posted up in a room as luxurious as this probably means I won’t get a lot of interaction. How are they to know if I did or did not see a cat fall into my room from the vents, scratch at its innards until its guts fell out, and then leave the exact way it came?

Well, that didn’t even happen (real or imagined). I just needed an example.

Or maybe they have cameras in here? That seems common among them. These people like to watch.

* * *

Once the Circle was implemented, the Russells continued to keep me in their home. At that point, I had been working with them for 6 years, so I’m sure they discussed with each other how bad they would appear if they elected to send me to the streets after every one of my responsibilities was computerized. The house became its own keeper, and there I was again, without purpose. What was the reason to let the maid stick around if the floors mopped themselves? Maybe I should have found something more valuable to do. When you reach 22, you tend to lose your title as an orphan. But ever the charitable philanthropists are this couple! My salary never dwindled.

I spent most days then with Mrs. Russell reading. Sometimes, we’d choose our own books and sit together as our page-turning became the only noises that broke silence, but other times, I would read to her. She tended to reach for romances, so I’d stick to the silence if I were given the choice. Without having to speak to either the Mr. or Mrs. those days, the former of which would be breadwinning, as they say, it was almost as though I was living in that big house all by myself. Usually disinterested by the plots that Mrs. Russell’s library had to offer, I’d stare at paper for minutes until all the letters blurred together. That’s when I began to meditate. Sure, one could consider it to be lonely, but if I were to look at it through any angle, I think I’d relate it to some long-awaited peace.

It was the same way on the Argo. Peace followed me even as the planet was shooting itself in the foot, and I kept coming back to the sheer satisfaction that I finally was where I belonged. I used to look up to the skies and imagine what heaven would be like. Now, over 20,000 miles above Earth, I was saved. While everything else ran rampant — people died, and buildings burned (that’s my generous interpretation on how I’d imagine the present state of the world to be after the Hypno spread) — peace was mine. I can only thank my beneficiaries for bringing their philanthropy project along with them.

And I’m the prime example of their little charade.

God, every little move they make is all in attempt at upholding the Russell facade. I know that I myself may not have the most exceptional morals in comparison to fucking Gandhi by associating with them, but what is life without playing the cards that you’re dealt? Truly, if we were to think about this realistically, so as to show that I’m not some kind of miscreant, what would Gandhi do if he were poor? If Gandhi were poor and saw a job offer for housekeeper which provided living accommodations, he would easily give his life up to service. Was that not what he was all about? Point is, I did not know the kind of people the Russells were before I signed the dotted line. And I don’t think Gandhi would have known either. Put him behind bars then.

* * *

The nurse let me come outside for a bit. Down by the end of the hallway and right across from the chapel is the garden, or at least what a bunch of engineers could make screens and metal best look like a garden. It’s a bit silly that the most beautiful visage of my own home planet against a blaze of stars is visible from my room’s window, and I’m here. Sights unknown to man stand just outside these walls, and I ogle at the walls. Well, the flowers are real, that much I can say.

I watched an older woman in a wheelchair be pushed over a stone bridge spanning over the makeshift stream. First I guessed cancer. Then shingles. My mind glazed over the possibility of hypnopompia, but then I remembered not everybody was here for that. Just because the Argo is probably the only location offering hypno treatment doesn’t mean that everyone here is hypnotized. Silly, silly me. The world doesn’t revolve around me. As a matter of fact, right now, I am revolving around it.

Just as Wheelchair Woman was about to reach the other side of the bridge, the nurse pushing her chair tripped over an unlatched stone, causing her to fall straight into Wheelchair Woman herself. Shocked by the impact of that body, Wheelchair Woman fell forward into the stone when I heard a big crack.

The nurse regathered and ran in front of her patient on the ground. Once she leaned down to inspect the damage done to her head, she screamed.