Home? (Chapter 10)

I see her approach my inert body with a large syringe on her hand, her fist clasped tightly around it. "Who are these people and what are they trying to do?" The question prevails in my mind, and it almost sounds like a whisper coming from the depths of my subconscious. Suddenly the doctor interrupts her operations to comment on some unimportant aspects of their job, to which she releases the syringe on a table next to me. My hand is almost at reach and I know that I can take possession of it if I act quickly enough. While they speak, my fingers attempt to touch the delicate glass, though the chains are too tight to even allow my hand to move in the slightest. Panic settles in and so does the conversation which ends abruptly as soon as one of the present medics sees me move. With a narrow nod of the head, he signals his partner to continue with the injection. However, my fingers have finally managed to grasp the item, though the woman has not noticed.

"Oh, where is it?" she asks, her head tilting around the room, as if it was dancing to some unknown, silent beat.

"It's over there. Do you need to untie her? She seems pretty calm."

"We can't trust these subjects, Jerry," she says in a monotone, inhumane voice. He brings his head down, consenting without question her statement. I feel sorry for his lack of initiative, or personality for that matter. However, something about hearing a name, after being referred to as a number for so long captivates me and makes me feel somewhat more comfortable, more empowered. They are human too.

"Right. Hand me that knife. We have to insert a pill later."

As soon as I hear such utensils being mentioned I turn hopeful. My fingers touch the syringe and I feel an instant relief knowing that I may be able to free myself. As soon as her feet begin wondering toward my direction, time seems to speed up so rapidly that in less than a minute her body lies unconscious on the ground and her legs begin spasming frantically once the content has settled in her system. My hands clutch the knife firmly and with a few cuts I manage to liberate my wrists from the oppression. Jerry has run to the alarm system and tries to set it off desperately but I reach him before he can alert anyone. Without hesitation I pin him down to the ground, while he screams loudly. I press my hand on his mouth, worried that some passing stranger may have heard the commotion. I listen through his babbling. The outside seems quieter than ever.

"Who are you?" I can't help but ask him, "what are you trying to do to us?" "Where is Max?"

I demand to know the answers but he simply shrugs his shoulders, even though he's completely oppressed.

"Tell me!" I say rather ferociously but he does not seem to care about my anger. I do have to give credit to their impassibility, which is stronger than I thought. I can't take it anymore. The carelessness with which they conduct themselves; the oppression we are subject to; the dehumanization to which we have been forced into accepting. I slap him and he grunts in return. I begin to hit him repeatedly until he bleeds. I can see the pain in his eyes and I feel powerful, almighty almost. I soften my grip enough to let me kick him, make him suffer. The rage I feel is almost unbearable but comforting knowing that, for the first time I'm able to pay back some of the suffering. He finally gestures with his hands, telling me to stop, to have mercy. Should I though? After what they have done to all of us? Something tells me I should, just so that I'm different from them, that I stand out from the vengeful crowd that wishes all of them were dead. My subconscious whispers once more and I hear it. "Stop. You're better than them."

"Tell me then. I'll stop if you tell me," I don't scream. I say it rather calmly so that he can relax and think of me as an old friend. I can feel his breathing slow down, and so does my fury and excitement. I release him, though somewhat unsure of what his next move may be. He lays there at first but soon sits with his back on the white wall.

"OK. You wanna know what's going on? I'll tell you then," he lets out a grunt, indicating that he's in absolute pain. Do I feel bad? A little but not enough to make me regret my actions. He pauses as though to add more tension to the atmosphere and, even though I thought that was impossible, his silence seems to create a feeling of complete unease I'm not enjoying.

"So?"

"I need water."

"I don't care. Tell me what the hell is going on or I'll have to continue."

"What? Hurting me, making me pay... for what? The death of your friend? Grow up Ms. Ballot. There are more fundamental things in life."

Dead. Death. Is he talking about Max? I swallow, but it sounds almost like a chuckle. This man is a snake. He wants to hurt me. I choose not to believe him and carry on demanding answers.

"Tell me."

"You're too desperate to know things. Slow down, Ms. Ballot."

"How do you know my last name?"

"Well, everyone has a name. I have to know who's taking part in the cause."

"What are you talking about?" I scream in desperation. I want to know what the 'project' is all about.

I doubt the demanding gaze of my eyes is enough to convince him to tell me the information but, for one reason or another he does.

"Ms. Ballot, why do you think we're here?"

"Well, to inhabit another planet so that the human race can continue to exist."

"Lies," he says "and, frankly, I'm surprised the system has been that effective as to deceive rebellious minds like yours so well. There is no planet. It's all an experiment. And, let me tell you something in hindsight. The experiment has failed. You understand? It's failed! Nothing that we do is going to accomplish anything. So, if I were you, I'd hide. Something is going to happen soon and it's not going to be, let's say pretty," he laughs, hissing to the air. Before I can ask him anything else he begins to laugh maniacally. "He's lost his mind" I think to myself. He then pulls out a small gun from his pocket and brings it to his forehead.

Before I can do anything he looks at me, says "Be ready to envision the vision," and pulls the trigger, drops of his blood decorating my skin like a tattoo and my face like some bizarre makeup. His body falls unconscious on the floor.

Jerry, my only hope to understand what exactly is happening, is now dead and so is my optimism.