Bird's of a Feather - Exhibition

Exhibition - Brimstone

The lights flickered above head as the storm raged on. It'd been three or so hours since the unforgiving downpour began. The endless pounding at the weak and old windows offered only growing dread as the time ticked on. I grew uneasy in my seat, changing positions every few seconds and fumbling with my hands to calm my nerves. I swear I had done everything right, everything that he asked of me. Or had I? Did I leave a loose end and he found out? Or perhaps it was a test of guilt, was he trying to see if I was the mole?

My restlessness snapped a cord in the receptionist as she slammed her hand on the warped and brittle desk. She glared at me through her smudged lenses, pursing her lips in annoyance. Then, once I mumbled an apology, checked the ticking clock and went back to work on her dusty, rectangular computer. I was practically vibrating in my seat now, stopping the urge to not change positions so early. Instead, to distract my mind, I drew imaginary pictures on the palm of my hand, desperately wishing I was anywhere but here.

...

The minutes became what seemed like hours, the silent drone of the old computer's struggling processor kept me company. The rain and wind thrashed at the windows even more so as time went on, fighting to get into the room it seemed. I wished I would be seen soon, I don't think I could last another agonizing second in this room with a receptionist that looks like she wants to throw me in an oven on broil. As if the world heard my inner thoughts, an exasperated man slammed the door to reception wide open. Sweat dotted his scrunched brow and his wrinkly shirt, as if he just came back from running a marathon. He took one curious look at me and then at the receptionist who looked like she was about to rip the man's head off.

"Miss Walters, I'm afraid there's an emergency in Henderson's class, code 11. Vice said to come get you since she's one of your kids," stated the rather tall, sweaty man. He didn't wait for the receptionist to reply back, he simply turned around and ran right back to where he came.

Miss Walters looked at me, a warning in her eyes. She got up, turned the computer off, and paced after the man, closing the reception door behind her. I was alone now. Somehow, it didn't truly make me feel better. There were cameras everywhere, even in reception. I was being watched at all times and, as the staff lovingly put it, I always had company. I checked the clock again. It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, how long is he going to make me wait? Several alarms in my mind were telling me to leave that room, it was my chance. Sure, the cameras would see my disobedient exit but, if I ran fast enough, I could make it out of the compound before anyone knew anything. I failed to act on my basic survival instincts, the alarms ringing in my head but I dared not listen. My life wasn't the only one at stake and I would be a terrible brother if I left without her. God only knows what they would do to her. Vivid images of Lemmings' s test subjects flashed through my mind. Their screams echoed in the corridors of my brain, silencing the alarms. His "beautiful creations," his life's work, summed up to the agonizing cries of the damned, forgotten, and stolen. Although he hadn't cared enough to tell my sister and I what our purposes were to him, I don't think we are protected from those experiments. If a staff member or student breaks their oath they disappear. They become another prisoner at his facility. Another scream, another cry, never to reach the surface. I swore to Venus I wouldn't let that happen to her and I planned on keeping that promise. Whatever Lemmings had to tell me, I would wait.

I finally settled into the chair, making sure to take deep breaths as I sat in wait. Finally, I heard the tapping of footsteps. They were just outside the door. I could see a tall silhouette behind the frosted glass that bordered the heavy, metal door. The dim lights in and out of the room made it hard to tell who was outside the door. It didn't look like Miss Walters, perhaps it was the sweaty man?

Lemmings.

I watched the door handle jiggle and opened, the door creaking with it. The man stepped inside the reception and swiftly closed the door behind him. He gathered himself and looked at me and smiled. While his smile may seem rather welcoming and warm to the outside observer, his eyes oozed with darkness. He held no light in them and no remorse for his actions. They were calculating and cold. It's like he could see your soul and knew exactly how to bend and mold it to his liking.