𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙕𝙤𝙣𝙚

Twelve

TEAGAN HARPER

My brain feels as though it's trying to wade through deep water. Even after I've opened my eyes completely, the world is still blurry. My ears aren't any better; any noise is easily defeated by the ringing.

I'm slumped in a chair, I soon notice. I try to shake myself awake, but all that does is cause a stinging pain to shoot through my head. Now my eyes keep focusing and blurring again, over and over and it only makes me more dizzy.

A white blotch is traveling back and forth from either side of my peripheral vision. With another shake of my head and limbs, and another jolt of pain, I finally shake awake.

The white blotch is a lab coat. Fear sets snug and unmoveable in my stomach almost immediately. But Mad doesn't seem interested in me; he's flicking through papers attached to a clipboard. I lower my head and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to play dead.

"I know you're awake, you know." He says, and I can almost hear the smirk on his face. Great.

Knowing it's no use, I open my eyes and meet his gaze.

I try not to flinch at the wide psychotic eyes staring back in front of me. Then I do, but I try my best to hide it. It doesn't work - his lips wear a sickening grin.

The chair I'm binded to is already uncomfortable enough, making my back ache along with the pain that I recieve upon trying to move. Still, I bring myself to sit up properly with a mostly stoic face.

"What do you want?" I ask, clearing my throat after I hear how hoarse it sounds.

Mad contemplates the question. Clicks his tongue a few times.

"Not to hurt you," he says, and of course I don't trust it even for a millisecond, "at least - well. It depends." Thought so.

He straightens a pile of paper idly and then leans against the cabinet, his hands in the pockets of his white coat. His eyes narrow at me, but not aggressively - more as though he's trying to decide how to phrase his words.

After what I feel is a solid minute of this, he shakes his head. Grins again. "Do you want to join our side?"

I look at him as though he's just declared he is a radish.

"What?"

Mad's smirk widens as if to say, 'I knew you were going to say that,' and that alone is enough to send me to peak anger.

"'Do you want to join our side', I asked. Don't really expect you to say yes-"

"You'd be correct."

"Of course I am. You're not nearly clever enough to realize."

I hate to admit it. But I perk up at that.

"Realize what?" I ask, almost accusedly.

Mad waves his hand dissmissively. "Nothing. You wouldn't understand, clearly."

"No, tell me. Try me. What?"

He chuckles and pushes himself off the cabinet to cross his arms, now stood up straight. "Well, haven't you noticed? Don't you realize your little 'friends' couldn't care less about you? Surely you must."

I shuffle uncomfortably in the chair. My mind is flooding with ideas to support both sides, but I voice none.

"Clearly not. Shame, that is. Matthew barely even thought of you when he woke up from his anesthesia. And I'm certain those other children not only don't care, but actively dislike you. I thought you were good at reading people - haven't you noticed all that?"

I can't decide what to say in response - my mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish, indecisive on how to react.

On one hand, I hate the thought of being perceived of anything less as at least a little smarter than the rest - even by someone as diabolical as Mad. And maybe I'm going insane, but... would joining the dark sides really be that terrible? I barely even know my fellow inmates. The alter egos clearly have the upper hand - that part is undeniable.

But on the other hand, the opposite side of my mind is screaming at me to not let my need for academic approval be my downfall. That I'd talked through this with myself before - and I have, several times. You don't need approval - you're clever enough. The voice in the back of my head tells me. You don't need it. Especially not from him.

I decide that this side of my brain is the left - the one in control of one's logic, their critical thinking.

"You're lying to me," I say, suprised at how cold and stoic my voice sounds. "You're lying to me and if I joined your team then that would be what makes me a moron." I look up at him expectantly.

His eyebrows are raised. He fiddles with an empty (thank god) syringe in his hands. "You know, I was kind of hoping you'd say that."

I sigh. "Why."

He turns his back to reach into the cabinet and- wait. His back is turned.

I take the chance to curl my hands into fists and pull at the ropes binding my limbs together. I almost fall off the chair from the force - they barely needed any. Golden dust explodes from my fingertips, decorating the white tiles on the floor, dirtying my own fingers and ankles. The ropes on the ground are drenched in the stuff too.

Mad whips back around. Stares at me, deadpan. I stare back. Then bound up from the chair, kicking it over in the process. Ram into the door, staining that with the dust as well as it flies open. I don't look back. I just run. Out of the 'doctor's office' through the looming green doors, down the corridors.

My hands are leaving trails of the glitter as i run, slowly getting thinner and thinner until they completely disappear. Eventually I stop, merely because i don't hear him following me and I'm out of breath. I flick away at the last remaining blond particles stuck to my appendiges.

What are you?