Breaking the Cycle

Chapter 1 - The Mal Clone

I lifted my eyelids slowly. The room is like box, with a black mirror facing me. There are 2 men and women. They are funny things. Smelling sharp and weird, holding shiny tools and dressed in matching green scrubs and masks. One of them is talking into a black circular object. "Year 2222. Date, 1st of January. Procedure 1455. Birth of Specimen #6843, child of # 3441 and # 3412. Female. Blood type AB. Eyes, Green. Hair, Ginger. Embedding personal chip into wrist, code name #1-6843"

A sharp pain was felt on my left wrist. "Weeeaaacchhh!"

"Sedate her! Reactions are noted... Hey! Hey!"

I struggled and tried to wriggle out of the grasps of the green suited man, as I saw a sharp object with bright blue bubbling liquid. I ripped off the blanket and tumbled onto the cold, green floor. I tried moving but I can't seem to be finding my bearings well and it felts like flapping and flopping around.  A woman ran towards me and injected something similar into my arm. Black and white dots starts to danced in front of my eyes as I my head feel heavy and ...

"Hey she is turning purple.... impossible...hold her with the mal-clones's prison...." ... And everything turned black...

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I woke up gasping with a layer of cold sweat dotted on my forehead. The cold cement bed and thin cotton blanket did little to reassure me. It's that dream, again. Slowly, I help myself up from the hard bed and try wrapping the piece of cloth around me. It never really fully cover me, it is either the knees to the toes or just the shoulder and the body like a shawl.

I always have the same dream. It happens almost every day, haunting and taunting me. I am pretty sure that I am that baby... apparently the one that turns purple. "Impossible." That was what the strange man said... but what does that mean? Does that mean that we are not suppose to "turn purple"? I had tried asking my captors but they give me a confused face or just totally ignored me. I suppose it is not a usual questions to ask among the cells. As I asked around the cell and other inmates, they simply mock me and reassures me that it is merely a dream and will soon drift off. Over time I soon grew tired of asking and just keep it all to myself. It's hard but one has to survive in these grounds. No-one wants to be the 'weird' kid. The last one did not have a happy ending. "Not much different from the rest of us here," I muttered

Sighing, I look up to the small window - the only pleasant part of my bare, dirty and small prison cell. It must be just 5 o'clock in the morning. The sky in streaks of pink, blue with a hint of orange. Sitting in my cell for my last 15 years had let me recognize the sun and sky like the back of my hand. The beautiful, free, innocent sky. So peaceful and so tranquil. I want to be a part of it, or at least be free. Everyone in these cells wants to. Don't get me wrong however, through time in the cell holdings, one will soon realise that being inside the cells of your sleeping quarters is much better than stepping out of it.

A sharp wail and a low growl could be heard with tiny whimpers from the end of the dark cell alley. Looks like "Madder" and "Growl" woke up. No one in these cells actually have a name. Well at least not in alphabets, but numbers. Well it is not like anybody cares either. No one cares.

People in these cells range from the age of baby infants to those who are so old that we lost track. There is no such things as birthdays. We could barely feed themselves, let alone having the luxury of tasting cakes. One of the aged 'citizens' as I call us, was Madder. Gone mad from The Test. No one really know what the test is about and no one come back alive to tell the tale. I say "alive" because some either can't withstand The Test itself and disappear as a whole or comes back mental. It is usually lucky if you come back just traumatized. I had heard of it but it must had taken place years ago or is just a legend for I have never seen it happened in my last 15 years here.

Then there is the nicknamed "Wise", who is not only wise but lucky. See, The Test participants are chosen by drawing lots from a metal box located in the middle of the cells. One slip for every age. As your age increases, more papers with one's code number is written. I am 15, so there are 15 paper slips. As for Wise, it is rumoured that she is turning 100 by the end of the year. Most of The Test participants are around the age of 30 - 50 let alone 100. But then one the other hand no one really know how many people really inhabit within these cells. So it is really hard to judge. I actually question big this box actually is....

Nevertheless, Wise is known to be gentle and motherly. I have never met her personally but it is said that if you do see her you may get a small chunk of biscuit. It is however a known fact that the guards tends to be nicer to her for some reason. It is even said that she gets tea for lunch! Now that is a form of luxury among us. Since I have never met her before, I could not ask her about my dream. She never have meals with us outside in the cafeterias.

Wise is her first name, however and surprisingly, anyone who had been said to offend or talk bad about her is almost always chosen for the next time. The coincidence is uncanny. It's so strange that some had also nicknamed her Lady Witch. Not a full bad witch, but an elegant one, who only takes revenge when offended. What's weirder is that even when she isn't around the victim is still a goner!

It is from her that we learnt about The Test and their results and also more about the people like Madder. According to her, Madder was once beautiful and joyful, so joyful that she make the gloomy cells glow. Madder had jet black coloured hair and grey eyes. She had a good ear for music and sings really well. It is just a pity that she was only 15 when she went through The Test. Madder is now 25 years old and still counting.

Madder along with a few thousands (God knows how many) are named "wasted" experiment, or so the Management ( the council of the mal-clones ) says. The failed tests. For every new failed tests there will be announcement. We never know if there were any successful but we know every failed test. There are but too many to tabulate. Most of them are either new or never heard of either before they are taken away.

The malfunctioning clones. That's what they called us. The people to be processed and so abundant in amount that we are better known as clones. The living quarters or cells of the failed tests and the ones in-waiting like me lives in the same area, so it can be quite depressing and distressing, constantly hearing the wails and the cries. It happens more often than you think. there could be one or two screams or cries every hour. But who wouldn't want to just let it out and scream in this bare and dreadful place?

The alarm rang. It's now 6 o'clock and I had daydreamed an hour away. The sky outside the small window is not light blue with large puffy white clouds, on a closer note, it seems like it's about to rain soon. The electrical barricades around my bed disappeared. Yes, there are barricades around our bed to the rest of the room. We have a strict lights out time and this is to prevent late night escapes to take place when the guards are tired at night. It had apparently happened before and no one questions it. Sighing, I got down my bed and made my way across to the small washbasin and mirror at the corner of my cell. My bright red hair (not ginger, but red) is tangled, mangled and dirty, as usual. My baggy cell uniform consisting of a long brown coarse striped shirt is ragged and faded from all the journey of hand-me-downs.

I tried combing my fingers through it but to no avail. Sighing again ( I know I am a depressing girl, but hey, try staying in this hen house for 15 years, it's no joke ), I use a piece of cloth I tore from my uniform and try to gather most of my untameable hair to be tied up. It still messy, but I guess it is better than before. The second alarm rang and the cell door opens, and the Snappers scans the code on our wrists before marching us out. We call them Snappers for they snap the necks of anyone who disobeys. This is usually very difficult for the kids but we grow into it soon. Kids in this definition are people ages from an 3-10 years in age. They have a 'lighter' punishment of receiving small electric shocks to their tiny body. Infants stay in a secluded area among the cell holdings. These babies are machine fed until their walking age at around 2-3 years old. They will get an individual cell and move out if their area by the age of 3 and join the tough life we have here. We, the mal clone lines up and follows the bright green light that leads us to the cafeteria for breakfast.

It is always the same everyday.
Wake up at 6 in the morning, with a lucky bonus if you are luckily late - pail of cold water on your face. Well as least they have 'washed' your hair. Wash up, which includes washing our faces, brushing our teeth and attempting to comb our hair. Scanning the bar code inked on your wrist, in the fear that that we will run away and into the welcoming arms of getting wacked. Have breakfast, one of the two meals we have daily, consisting of a tiny loaf of stale bread, a rotting apple and a mug of spoil milk or water. Then the tortures begin.