The Belly of Bygone Days

Mind Above All

Day 211

Doris lay on the bed, staring up at the familiar white ceiling above her. She was supposed to be sleeping, but she couldn't even close her eyes. If she did, she'd see them again. Hear their frantic squeaks and piercing squawks. Feel the fragile bones splinter in her hands

It didn't matter that she'd simply been following the commands given to her by the scientists—it didn't matter that her hands had moved on their own accord—she had killed them. It was her fingers that had ended their lives.

She was a monster.

There were footsteps outside. Voices. Snippets of conversation bouncing back and forth between the cold, clinical walls.

"—did you see his eyes? The irises turned completely black—"

"—a curious reaction. Schultz is keen to repeat the—"

"—in the medical ward, still busy puking his guts up—"

Laughter. Doris shivered and rolled onto her side. She was used to the scientists talking openly about them. She had learned to let their voices wash over her, shutting out the scornful tone, ignoring their words.

"—perhaps the whites will turn black, too. That'd be interesting to observe—"

"—loss of vision, I reckon, like that other one—"

"—serve him right. Look at what that black eyed bastard did to me yesterday. We had to tie him down—"

The voices stopped. Twisting the bed sheets between her fingers, Doris continued to stare up at the ceiling, afraid to even blink. From outside her cell came a whistle. Doris' hands spasmed. Clenched. A white light flashed through her mind and, for a moment, the scratchy fabric in her hands became flesh and blood. Fur.

Laughter. Doris sat upright in the bed, heart pounding, her chest heaving. The whistle hadn't been quite at the right pitch, the cadence hadn't been exactly correct, but the effect was still strong. Tears welled in her eyes. She dashed a sleeve across her face, wiped her hands on her shirt, trying to clean them, trying to remove the blood only she could see.

Someone thumped on the door. "Subject C001, it's time to get up." Obediently, Doris got out of the bed as a large bald scientist, Pavel, opened the door. Another scientist, Stefan, was standing behind him, holding a clipboard.

"Where are we going?" Doris asked timidly.

Stefan consulted the clipboard. "Just to the common room for now."

"Someone'll come get you later," Pavel added. Doris noticed there a nasty looking gash across his cheek.

As soon as she stepped into common room, Doris looked around for Yakov. She longed to see his warm blue eyes. Wanted to feel his comforting arm around her shoulder. Needed to hear his voice, to hear him tell her she wasn't a monster. Unlike him, she didn't mind liars.

But he wasn't there.

The scientists went on their way, leaving Doris alone. She glanced over at Hans who was shivering away in his beanbag, and at Oliver who was sitting in his usual chair happily reading a book. She knew the former wouldn't talk to her—he barely spoke at all any more—and as for the latter... she couldn't bring herself to go to him. He wasn't Oliver anymore, not the Oliver she knew, at least. They had taken her brother and turned him into an unfeeling, obedient, smiling puppet.

That left only one other person in the room. Not wanting to be alone, Doris approached Elias.

He was working on his mural. He was always working on it these days, taking every opportunity to add an extra stroke here, a splash of colour there. He would paint and repaint, always adding something more. What had begun as a hobby seemed to have become an obsession. She wondered if he would ever be finished with it.

"What are you painting now?" she asked him.

He didn't look up from his work, and for that she was glad. She was afraid that if he were to look at her, if he had even the slightest chance to study her, he would know what she had done.

She subconsciously wiped her hands on her shirt.

"It's a fish," he explained in that soft, soothing voice of his. "The village had a pond that was filled with koi. My sister loved to watch them swim about."

Doris glanced at the fish, little more than a splash of green on blue. Although she didn't know much about art, she had noticed Elias' style change over time. While the lower layers of the painting had clear lines, intricate shading and well-defined shapes, the newer additions seemed less distinct. Blurry shapes outlined with almost haphazard strokes.

"Of course," she said, attempting—and failing—a smile. "I thought it was a lily pad. Silly me."

At this, Elias paused, holding his brush up to the wall. "The koi were red," he muttered at length. He shook his head, his long fringe falling across his eyes. "It's wrong. It's all wrong." Swapping brushes, he set to work painting over the green streak with blue, erasing the perceived mistake, killing the fish with every swipe of his brush.

Doris winced and wiped her hands on her shirt again.

"Pass me the red paint, please," he said once the fish had been erased. Still facing the mural, he held out his hand expectantly.

The paint tin in question was right there next to his feet, but Doris didn't question the instruction. She merely obeyed it.

"Thank you, Doris," he said, placing the tin on the rung of the ladder. Taking a clean brush, he dipped the tip of it into the paint. "You don't have to feel bad, by the way, about those animals."

Doris stared at him, wide-eyed. How did he know?

"I'm perceptive," he said, as though reading her mind. "It's what I train for. I hear things. Like the scientists talking; like the slight tremor in your voice. I sense things, like the rubbing of your hands and the way your breath quickens. You don't have to feel bad," he repeated. "In order to achieve peace, sacrifices must be made."

"But it's so cruel," Doris whispered. "Those poor animals... they don't have a choice."

The bristles splayed as they hit the wall, a flower of red blossoming amidst the blue. "We don't always get to choose what we sacrifice," he said, "but we give it up all the same. We have to."

Doris glanced over her shoulder to where Oliver was sitting. Although he was still physically close by, the brother she had grown up with—the brother she had loved and relied on—was gone. "But why?" she asked.

"For the sake of peace."

Doris turned back to see Elias now looking at her. Through the strands of pale hair she could see the whites of his eyes. They were bloodshot.

"We pay the price so that others won't have to."