“Three,” she says. “Only three today.”
I feel her wipe my neck with the cold green cloth she carries. She scrubs my neck down before I hear her pick up the first one.
It should hurt. I know it should hurt.
I’ve done it too much. Too often, each time too soon. The sharp pain feels weak now. I feel it spread through my neck, suffocating me for a second before it slowly diminishes.
I used to be scared of this. The pain, the suffocation. How much was added in. How quickly she did it, always to return the next day with more.
It used to scare me.
It still does.
I hear her throw the remains away, along with her cloth. She washes her hands before she pulls out a new cloth from a box. She picks up another tray before walking over to the next child.
I rub the edges of my neck, feeling the bruises and lumps that have formed on the sides. I stare at the lumps that have formed on my hands. I swallow, feeling the clump of saliva that falls down my throat.
I do this over and over.
I shut my eyes.
I wish I could see myself doing this. Seeing myself swallow the lump that falls. Seeing the purple and blue bruises that sit on my neck, just like they do on other children.
What do I look like?
I asked Rosa this once, the girl who lay next to me in her own metal bed. She shrugged weakly.
You look like yourself.
But what color are my eyes? My lips?
She stares back at me, her eyes slowly turn soft.
Don’t you think if I knew I would say? She whispers.
Then I realized the reality again.
Something was wrong with all of us who lay in these beds.
Rosa was nearly blind.
I had one leg.
The boy next to me had six fingers and could not speak.
We did not look or seem like those who stared back at us from the TV.
Why do they keep us here? I asked her.
She sighed.
We are different from the other kids. We are dirty they say. Contaminated.
She said these words harshly. She spited them out. For a moment I stared at her before she looked away.
I turn over to see the bed where a new child lies in the bed where Rosa once lay. She wails softly for her mother.
I feel bad for her.
Yet I cannot relate.
I did not know my family.
Maybe I didn’t have one.
Rosa told me its because they took me away early.
It’s easy to tell the difference between having two legs and one.
They knew who I was from the beginning.
I imagine my family on some days.
I would have a sister like Rosa, kind and sweet and soft. A brother who would let me play all his games. I would greet my mother and father, both so loving and sweet. I would not live here. I would live in a home. Even the worst of homes could not be as bad as here.
At least homes don’t numb your neck.
“Lights out!” The woman barks.
There is no reason for this. No one talks or even gets up here. Everyone begins to breathe less though, to breathe quieter as if one loud breath could harm you.
I hear the girl next to me sleep in short and quick breaths.
The boy on the other side of the room snores.
A sudden wave of exhaustion begins to pour over me, though I have done nothing to exert my energy.
I shift over to my side, shutting my eyes.
I let the wave of exhaustion take over my body.
I remember the day Rosa left.
She wore the white gown she’d worn every other day, except it was now fresh and clean. She had no luggage with her like the people who travel on the TV do. Her bed had been made, clean and sharp, a corner slightly folded over for someone else.
Rosa, are you leaving to return to your family?
She looked over at me; her back still turned away, craning her neck over her shoulder awkwardly. She glanced at me before her head turned away again.
No, she said quietly. I am leaving for good.
What do you mean?
I could see her shaking the back of her head.
Rosa, I continued, speaking louder. Why aren’t you going to your family?
I could see her walking over to my bed, now in long strides as she crossed the floor.
I have outlived my purpose here.
I tried to speak as she stopped me.
You will understand one day, she whispered. She began to walk away when she stopped. She turned around.
Leave. She said. Promise me you’ll leave here one day.
What do you-?
Promise me.
Her eyes stared at me, filled with hope.
I nodded at her. I promise.
She hugged me tightly.
I watched as she walked over towards beige door that stood in the corner of the room. She paused there for a moment when a woman with a green cloth came out, motioning her through the door, which then shut behind them.
Five minutes later the woman came out and began scrubbing her hands under the sink furiously.
A sudden wave of panic rose over me.
Rosa had not come out.
I was seven at the time.
I did not understand this.
I thought Rosa had left.
The woman would not have allowed her to leave, let alone help her escape.
I sucked in my breath as if I was now suffocating again.
Rosa was dead.
She had been killed.
My eyes flew open, my head throbbed, my heart beat frantic as beads of sweat began to form, and then running down my face.
I stared at the TV above the sink.
3:46am.
I crawled down under the covers, slowing my breath.
Rosa.
Rosa.
Rosa.
Her voice echoed in my head.
I have outlived my purpose here.
She had lost her purpose here.
But what purpose did any of us serve?
I felt hot and sweaty underneath the covers, my chest still pounding.
I pulled the covers up, spotting a glance of sunshine beginning to glow through the window that stayed near the ceiling. A ray of gold and red flickering through.
Rosa.
The sun began flickering more, glowing brighter and hotter, its shadow growing bigger.
I turned over once again, avoiding the sun that now began to creep over my sheets. A sharp pain thudded through my neck.
Bruises.
Welts.
Scars.
The shots and the medicine.
I shut my eyes, squeezing them shut.
I wish this would all go away.
But I knew.
It all made sense.
We were being tested.
None of us could be cured of our differences.
The differences we had between the people of the screen.
We were tested for others.
I remember seeing an old man walk in one day.
It was the first time I had seen an old man.
He had mumbled something to a brown-haired woman as he pointed and observed the child in the corner.
The child had had blood drawn from her.
She had entered that room a week later.
Rosa had become that girl.
It made sense.
Rosa had died.
She was no longer useful as a test case.
She had outlived her purpose.
They would never let her leave.
A wave of anger and disgust flew over me.
Rosa had died for others.
She’d been a sacrifice.
That meant the rest of us would die the same way.
A sense of panic arose in my chest.
I couldn’t breathe.
My heart began pounding as my head began to feel lighter. My arms began to weaken.
I tried to scream but all I could hear was the pulse in my ears.
A woman came out of the beige room, looking over at me for a second before groaning. I could hear her pick up something, the deep ache once again returning to my neck.
The feeling of suffocation disappeared as she gripped my arm, she was gritting as she began dragging me out of the bed.
She dragged me to the room.
I screamed, my arms and legs flying.
She smacked me in the face.
I could feel blood pouring out of my nose as she dragged me in, shutting the door behind her.
I gripped the handle as she pulled me away, my grip slipping from the metal handle. She threw me onto a table, stabbing something into my leg.
I groaned.
You don’t understand, do you? She says angrily. This is hard for me too. Killing children one after another. They don’t deserve this.
Then why do you do it? I mumbled.
She shook her head. I did something a long time ago.
I felt her push the trigger; the ache seemed to worsen the harder she pushed.
She let go, pulling the needle out.
I’m sorry, she whispered. But none of the children can know the things we do.
We can’t risk it, Her faint voice murmurs.
The world began to fade dark into the edges.
My throat began to contract.
The darkness began overflowing my vision as I watched the woman go blurry.
I gasped as the world had disappeared.
The woman.
She had pulled her arm off, a prosthetic I believe
Only the rich could afford such a thing.
And the woman had pulled hers off, her left arm remaining.
The woman had one arm.
I stared at her as the world vanished from my sight.
The darkness seemed endless.
am i dead?
A light began to glow in the corner, slowing forming into words.
Continue system shut down?
Yes.
No.
I shut my eyes.
I now realize what this means.
I was a robot.
I had not been born like those on TV.
They had made me a robot.
Now it’s up to me to decide whether to shut down or not.
Whether I die or not.
I glance at no for a moment, wondering if I should do it.
The pain. The hurt.
I could die in peace.
I was nothing but a mere robot.
But then I would have no meaning.
I think of Rosa.
The promise I made to her.
She would’ve chosen yes.
The children. The woman. Everyone.
Yes.
I think of the man who walked in.
The children that died.
No.
No. No. No.
The system was flawed.
It gave no purpose. No meaning to the life we lived.
I stared away from the two letters.
I would live.
I would choose yes.
I would live for them.
I would live to see the day this monstrosity would fall and die.
Where we could all be free.
I stare at the words that glow in the corner.
Yes.
They flicker before the words go dark again.
A glowing ball appears, growing and growing, blinding me.
I howl in pain as the lights burn my eyes.
Then it stops.
The ball gets dimmer as it spreads, creating texture and feeling.
I see Rosa’s face.
For a moment I believe I am dead.
Then I see the shadows of the beige room behind her.
She grins at me, kissing my cheek quickly.
Am I dead? I whisper to her.
She shakes her head.
No. You are alive. You chose well.
I sigh with relief.
What happens now?
Rosa laughs happily.
We leave. We are free now. The children are free. Free from wrath. Free from the inequality in which these people had forced us into. We will prove our worth them. Show them who we are. We will fight.
I smile at Rosa.
The door creaks open as the woman walks in.
She grabs Rosa’s hand.
Rosa grabs mine.
Are you ready? She asks.
I feel my heart beating quickly.
I nod.
The woman takes off running towards the wall as Rosa and I follow.
We run.
Faster.
And faster.
We begin to rise, over the wall, our feet no longer touching the ground.
We begin to fly.