Still no Lark… and its been hours. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’ve given up on sitting calmly on my shelf. I paced till I grew weary, but there is no way I’ll be able to sleep until I know he’s okay.
Lark, Lark, Lark…
Where is he? Who is this supposed to be punishing, he or I? I’m definitely feeling the pain, that’s for sure. What are they doing to him? Are they deactivating him so soon? Or prying more information out of him? What if they’re beating him like they did me?
Lark, Lark, Lark…
But that’s okay, right? It’s fine that he isn’t back yet. He’s probably misleading them. Yes, that would be very typical of him, always thinking on his toes. Like the time where an officer caught us running to the Palette, and questioned why we were venturing out so far. Lark didn’t miss a beat, informing him that fresh air stimulated brain cells that otherwise might not be accessed. Satisfied with the answer, we were left alone.
I could never do well in those types of situations, always choking up and stumbling over my words, or getting defensive and lashing out. Both reactions are suspicious, but Lark grew up in an environment where lying was essential to survival.
Lark, Lark, Lark…
I can’t even imagine living the way he did, raising a brother while knowing that your own father didn’t care for or want you. Living in grief for your older brother, once your role model, but also hating him at the same time. Mastering the art of deception and facades to escape the wrath of a drunken mother, angry at the world. Painting on a smile every day, telling jokes and using sarcasm to mask how broken you were inside.
I guess in a way, the Administration was aiming to help families like Lark’s. Removing the fury, guilt, and pain, replacing it with cold hard logic. It should have been a good thing, should have fixed them. But as much as emotions complicate things, they also bring the light into our lives. Nothing is brighter than seeing laughter bubble out of a small child, or watching the love shine in somebody’s eyes as they gaze down at you. Facts simply don’t hold that kind of warmth, something we need to function correctly. I can tell you for certain that math problems didn’t fill the void that was left when my Daddy stopped taking me fishing, making pancakes, telling jokes… nothing could compare to that.
But I can’t lie and say that math is completely awful, though. It’s comforting, in a sense, to know that it will always be the same. While the whole world around you shifts and seems to come crashing down, leaving you with only shards of memories to step on, numbers don’t do that. There is always a way to get from point a to point b, always a formula that will always work. Math is definite; math is forever. And as much as I love the chaos and unpredictability of art, I suppose math is beautiful in its own way. What I wouldn’t give for an equation that would tell me when Lark would return.
Lark, Lark, Lark…
He would never desert me, not by choice. He would never keep me waiting, worrying, for so long. I’ll bet he’s begging them to let him return to me.
Out of nowhere, the door flies open, jarring me from my thoughts. In walk two workers, trailing a cart behind them with a few tools and a small rectangular machine with what appears to be a camera in the front. I watch them set everything up in the back of the room, and make sure the object is immovable, so I can’t chuck it across the room or anything. And as quickly as they came, they shuffle out, closing the door behind them.
I get up to inspect this new addition to my sparse cell. Right as I’m about to touch the camera part, though, it sends out a beam of light and creates an image on the wall across from it.
Oh, I think, feeling dumb for not knowing before. It isn’t a camera; it’s a projector! But why would they put a projector in here? Unless…
“Hello, Echoe,’’ A familiar crisp voice says. The Captain. I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “I know you’re probably about to say something back, but I would like to inform you that I can’t hear you, nor see you. So act as you wish, but know that it will not affect me. This is purely one-sided.” I wince, and hope this isn’t what I think it is. “The reason we’ve gone to the trouble of setting this all up is that we have something we need you to see… I have confidence it will alter the way you present your information, perhaps alter the information being presented itself.” Oh, no. Please, Lord, don’t let this happen.
The camera turns to a different direction, and reveals...
Lark.
YOU ARE READING
The Artists' Palette
Fantasy"The earth without art is just 'eh'" Echoe Springs lives in a dystopia where the Administrators (opposers of creativity and art) rule with an iron fist. In an act...
