The boy sat alone in the cold, clinical room, ashen face blank. The room was scarcely furnished, a thin-railed bed with a fitted mattress filling the space. White tiles reflected by white paint were his surroundings.
"317."
The boy's head snapped up towards the speaker on the ceiling. His creaking bones echoed in the near empty room as he stood. Head bowed and waiting. Silent.
The familiar creak of a door greeted his ears. A white coat met him, guiding him to the bright corridor. Beeping echoed through the long space and the rolling of wheels followed the boy. Their pace was brisk and unwavering, steady as a heart beat. The two occasionally brushed past other coats drifting through the space. A crinkled slip entered the boy's hand; he grasped it and routinely tucked into his waistband. A second door opened down the hall, a pale hand motioning at the visitors to enter. The boy kept his head down the entire way, memory guiding his feet.
"317, position please," a sterile yet familiar voice commanded. 317 stepped onto the scales, paused and continued to the thin-railed bed. He sat on the bed, paper crinkling beneath him. His legs hung, thin and colourless over the side.
"Follow the light," the voice told him raising a small flashlight. The white coat proceeded to fill out a checklist, observing the 317's reactions. He felt a band of pressure on his arm as the coat and voice conversed.
"Almost time"... "Levels are perfect"... "ready to..."
The couple glanced at 317 as they spoke, dark orbs tracing his figure.
The white coat led 317 off the bed and back down the corridor, beeping and squeaking ever present, the clinking of glass and rolling trolleys rhythmic in the empty air. The white coat turned the lock, forcing the weighted door open. 317 entered, unperturbed by the crashing close of the door. 317 sat on the bed. Waiting.
His breath released as retreating footsteps were heard through the door. He reached his hand down to his waistband, pulling out a crumpled shred of paper.
8
Removing the beeping from his arm, the boy jumped off the bed onto his knees. He crawled under the bed to the wall hidden by the bed. Small pieces of plaster and brick scattered along the floor, the only clues. The boy counted the bricks from the right.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
He tapped the eighth brick; it wobbled, and pulled the edges towards him. White paint specked the ground as the brick was removed. A bright, warm light seeped through the opening. The boy pressed his face into the small gap, breathing deeply. The beam warmed his features, holding promises of heat and comfort. A stark contrast to the room his body lay in, cold and desolate. The release of a deep breath was the only sound in the room.
The boy lay with the brick removed until he heard the telltale echo of footsteps. He rushed to fit the brick back, brushing the paint away from the closed opening.
The doorknob began twisting as the boy reattached the beeping and sat on the mattress. A white coat looked into the room, his gaze reaching the 317, three plastic bags in his grip. 317 continued to blankly stare into space. The white coat walked into the room, replaced the beeping's empty bag, checked the data screen and left.
Not a minute later a slim figure slipped into the room. She wandered over to the boy, placed a hand on his cheek with soft eyes and sighed, hanging up her white coat on the pole connected to the boy. A worn, dog-eared book was pulled from its hiding place.
"We've almost finished, aren't we?" the women spoke, opening the book. The boy nodded with a hint of a smile.
~
Time was lost in the clinical room; there was no ticking of a clock, dawn or dusk. Routine replaced time.
A new squeaking of wheels approached the boy's room. A white coat opened the door and wheeled the bed in. 317 routinely climbed into the high bed, paper crinkling under him. He was wheeled into a quiet corridor, down a narrow, unfamiliar hallway. They entered another cold room, silver reflecting the overhead lights. Voices mumbled in the corners of the room, white coats huddled over metal instruments.
"Prepare him," the voice commanded. A mask was placed over his face, instantly calming him. The voice began to countdown from five. 317 was stripped down and a white coat begun to draw precise doting lines on his body. The black markers bold against the pale, fragile skin.
Four
"First the heart, then lungs, liver, kidneys..." the white coat mumbled, numbering each section.
Three
317 lay still, unsure as his heart began to race, the rushing of his blood overwhelming in his ears.
Two
A pale gas continued to fill the mask, making his body go lax, unable to lift even a finger.
One
The boy's eyes drooped as the muffled voice became silent.
