just write it all out

33

The Light in the Darkness, pt. I - 02/02/16

i am machine. a part of me wishes I could just feel something.

I stepped out into the foggy morning and stared out at the street, the grey clouds inconsistent and floating around to take turns concealing mailboxes and parked sedans. I unlocked and climbed into my own sedan, making sure the condensation on the windshield was cleared away before I waited for the next whistle to go off, allowing me to pull out of the driveway and make my way to the factory.

Not a second later, the whistle sounded, and the cars in the other driveways down the street turned on and backed up in sync, mine included. Like a line of ants, the cars moved down the street and turned the corner, joining the other streams of cars on their way to the factory. All the people that lived in my area worked at one factory, while those living in other areas worked at their respective factories, or farms, although most farms were worked by computer-run machines.

I handled the car carefully, making sure I turned at the right time and braked at the right time, because one wrong move could cause a huge problem, and I wouldn't want to do that.

I arrived at the factory in the usual four minutes and twenty-five seconds and parked in my designated spot next to the car ahead of me, waiting for the next whistle that would tell me to exit the car and walk to my place in the assembly line. Again, it sounded on time, and I opened the door and exited my car, moving into another line to file through the standard door while holding up a card to be scanned by the hidden sensor. I had yet to see what would happen if I didn't have my card. I was never curious as to find out.

Soon I was at my station and the conveyor belt was turned on, sending plastic and metal parts my way so I could pick them up, put them together, and put them down again for the next person to do the next step.

Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down.

Whistle.

Break.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension that had built in my shoulders release, as I turned to the worker next to me, Scott. He did the same and turned to me.

"How are you today?" he asked, just as he did every day.

"I'm fine. How are you?" I asked, just as I did every day.

"I'm fine, too. Is today Friday?" That didn't happen every day.

"Yes, it is."

"I thought so. My niece has basketball games every Friday. I think this week is when they're scheduled to win. Would you like to come?"

This was new. I was surprised, but we were encouraged to have at least one neighborhood friend, although not more than five. "I would like to. I was only scheduled to organize tonight, so I'll put in a request to cancel it and go to the game."

"Good. That's one environment where we're supposed to be energetic and having fun."

"Yes, that'll be a nice variation from my schedule."

He smiled a little bit, even though we both knew we weren't supposed to, and I felt something tug at my lips, too. "You're so proper," he commented.

"Just doing my job," I replied, my brain fighting my face muscles.

"You're welcome to join us every Friday, if you enjoy it tonight. They only win every other week, but it's still fun."

I opened my mouth to say something, but the whistle went off again, and I just nodded at Scott as we turned back to the conveyor belt.

Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. How nice of him to invite you. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. No, don't think about it. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. You're not allowed to think about it. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down.

Think about it. I dare you.

My brain still kept the pick them up, put them together, put it down rhythm going, but it dulled to a murmur and the last six words resounded loudly in my mind.

Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down.

I dare you.

My fingers twitched, but I kept working.

Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down.

Feel something. I dare you.

I can't, I told myself. I can't feel anything.

Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down. Pick them up, put them together, put it down.

Whistle.

Lunch.

I blinked, the realization dawning on me. I couldn't feel anything.

"Are you all right?" Scott asked. "We have to go to lunch now."

"Yes, I'm fine," I answered, and I turned so we could walk into the lunch room to receive our standard meals and sit at our designated tables with our neighbor factory workers. I didn't know who else worked there. I was only ever around the same other seven. They ate next to me, worked next to me, drove next to me, lived next to me.

Halfway through, I turned to Scott. "You know what, I think I'll go to the game tonight regardless of whether my request is approved." It would be a chance to feel something.

"Are you sure? What if your request is denied?" He looked slightly concerned.

"Then I will still go to the game. Save me a seat." And in addition to enjoyment, I may feel guilt. And that would be better than nothing. Wouldn't it?

Number one of six of a little mini-series based off of my show choir's competition show since it's so cool this year :)

The drawing is like a possible ending pose for the opening number that this is based off of...? So yeah there's that.