Cut

Day Four

I'm warm when I wake up. Shit! Wasn't there something about hypothermia? One feels warm when one is actually freezing to death? My heart beats a panicky rumble, my eyes snap open, and a dreadful future presents itself: Runner sits before me. He sports a black eye.

'Breakfast?' he asks.

I notice the sleeping bag. He must have spread it over me quite a while ago because I feel really hot now. Might also be from the shock of seeing him.

I sit up and rub my eyes. 'No need to be polite.'

'Hmm. I'm certainly having some. I thought you might be hungry.' He doesn't even look up from the delicacies he's spreading on his sandwich.

'You know, I'm too tired for pleasantries. Just get it over with. Say your thing and go back home.'

'You believe you've failed,' he says.

There might be something resembling a smile. At least his mouth twitches and there is a funny glint to his eyes. It could also be a sneer.

'It's obvious,' I point out.

'Is it?' He spreads butter on a second slice of bread. My mouth waters. I might actually be drooling soon.

'You said one week. It's now day three.' Why do I sound as if I want to protest?

'No.'

'No what?'

'It's day four.'

'Oh.' Right. I stare at the sandwich he holds in his outstretched hand. My stomach somersaults in anticipation. 'Thanks,' I say and more or less inhale the offered food.

'This is not about reaching a randomly set goal, Micka. It's about showing the spirit. You did your best using the resources you had available. With the weather conditions and the lack of provisions, equipment, and warm clothing, you never had a chance to get through a whole week. I'm quite surprised you're still here.'

What's that supposed to mean? 'So why...'

'I wanted to see how easily you give up, and it seems you didn't even consider it. I'm not here to torture you, and I'm not here to play the smart ass, if I may be so blunt. Humans don't live all by themselves. We are social animals. We help one another, and that is how we survive. You and I will be in the woods for a week. You haven't been alone these four days, and you won't be alone the next three days. Here, have more bread and cheese.'

So, he saw me pooping and vomiting all over the forest floor. Brilliant. To say I'm mortified would be an understatement. 'I don't understand your test,' I mumble and snatch a slice of bread and a hefty chunk of cheese.

'I need to know what kind of person you are. That means I'll occasionally push you over your limits. At the same time, I want you to question everything. Total obedience doesn't show me who you are, it only shows that you can pretend to be a machine.'

His words remind me of my ten-year-old self. I had no clue what I could do once I came of age. I settled on nomadic prostitute, because I discovered my second talent next to turbine fixing: being able to pretend I'm all right, no matter how deep the shit is I'm wading through.

'In the following six months — or less, depending on the outcome — I want you to question everything I say or do. I don't want to create a copy of myself. Forget what you've learned at school. Perhaps most of what you've learned in life, as well.' That last sentence is a bare whisper.

I squint at him, nonplussed. 'What do you know about me?'

'I know very little. My predecessor gave me his impression of you, but I'll not repeat what he said. I might tell you when you are an apprentice. I also know that your grades are dismal, because you rarely do what the teachers tell you, and if you do it, you do it your way.' He sees me gape and adds, 'The dean told me.'