Anomalous

Anomalous (3)

Ok so I have no idea why I'm bothering to post this other than it's my favourite out of all my stories by FAR. So please read and enjoy and comment and criticise it. Thank you!

The door opened to reveal a blindingly white-and-chrome room that smelled strongly of surgical disinfectant. A petite red-headed lady in gloves and a lab coat took his belongings from one of the agents. Two men in coats, gloves and surgical caps appeared out of nowhere and took hold of him. He began to protest against the man handling and started thrashing about in an attempt to pull away but their grip was firm and his attempts were futile . They did not even bother to acknowledge him apart from tightening their grip. They took him to a white bathroom and stripped him down before shoving him into a scalding shower where he was scrubbed down with anti-bacterial soap and lice shampoo.

After his 'shower' , they issued him with a standard pair of denims, a white t-shirt and a pair of white cotton boxers. Barefoot, he was lead to an examination table where he went through the rituals of his usual physical. After the physical they drew blood, demanded a urine sample and told him to return at six am the next morning promptly.

He made his way to his room accompanied by a warden in a white lab coat. The silence roared in his head and he felt the weight of the situation sink in. It was so surreal that his brain denied his situation's validity.

"Your room mate will be here shortly. As dinner has already begun, a meal will be sent down for you." Coldly, he turned away and walked out of the impersonal room, leaving James alone in his new bedroom. His bag was at the foot of a bed and he dug in it to find his pack of cigarettes. They were nowhere to be found and neither was his Zippo lighter or the shoelaces to his All Stars. Even prison allowed smokes, he thought morosely to himself. He threw himself down on to his bed and stared at the ceiling. White. Sterile. Oppressing. The same went for the walls. His roommate's belongings neatly tucked away. Out of site. Except a red piece of material that rebelliously protruded from between the mattress and the bed frame. Everything was so scientific. So devoid of emotion, of soul, of humanity. A familiar cloud of depression steeled over him. One of listlessness, lethargy and auto responses. He stared at the ceiling trying to find some meaning in this all. The door to the room entered and a boy of about ten walked in, stony-faced, eyes unfocused. He trudged his way to his bed, pulled out the red blanket that had lain pressed beneath the mattress, folded it to create a makeshift pillow that he slipped beneath his issued one and went to sleep without acknowledging James's presence. The boy seemed just as lifeless as James felt. His anger had dissipated and been replaced with a sense of hopelessness. James closed his eyes and let the dark abyss take over as he drifted to sleep.

Zia hated all the black SUVs that all the soccer moms and housewives drove. They just irked her and reminded her of government vehicles. Not only that but her beat-up, second-hand Toyota corolla attracted way to much attention for her liking in the richer areas. She had gotten herself a comfortable job as an au pair, or nanny as they liked to call it in the states, for a wealthy family in an upscale neighbourhood in some costal town in California. She loved the weather and the children for all that they could be brats. All in all, they weren't too bad most of the time. She could say she was happy but honestly, she felt it was too unreal and hadn't yet settled into it. She kept expecting to wake up from under anaesthesia or something and find out she had to have another test done or that someone was waiting around the corner in one of those black SUVs, waiting to pounce and take her away. It was Friday, marking the end of her seventh week working for the Hastings. She had just dropped the children home after their usual Friday afternoon outing to the movies - she had sat through some ghastly movie about a teen pop sensation who obviously suffered from split personality disorder - and all she wanted to do was go out and do tequila shots with a group of friends and dance until the last song played but she couldn't do that. She was still too young to drink in The States so she made her way home to her Aunt's apartment.

A badly parked Ford minivan drew profanities from Zia as she turned into the Apartment block's road. She had had to manoeuvre very carefully to avoid hitting it and if she wasn't afraid that one more bump would cause her car to crumble, she might have just done it on purpose . She worked on calming down as she used an ancient gorilla lock to lock her steering wheel. She highly doubted it would be effective in deterring car thieves but it made her feel safer. She glanced up at the rear view mirror and noticed two burly men and a petite black haired woman get out of the minivan that had caused her atypical bad mood. Her eyes widened in mild surprise. They certainly weren't the type she expected to own the minivan. After all, the minivan was nondescript and a colour that could only be described as shaki -a mix between shit and khaki. Who would expect three well-dressed, business-type individuals to emerge from that?

They approached the lobby door at the same time that she did and she held the door open for them, assuming they were visiting one of the tenants. The woman, now flanked on either side by the men, rifled through her purse casually as she neared Zia. With an incomprehensibly fast movement on the woman's part, Zia felt a sharp pain in her inner thigh. Her world started to tilt and she stumbled towards the lift, determined to make it to the apartment where it was safe. Her legs collapsed from under her and her body shook as she strained to keep moving forward. The lobby door slammed shut and large hands manacled her wrists and ankles. She summoned the last of her energy and tried to fight back but no sound escaped her lips and her arms barely twitched before her eyes rolled back and she was engulfed in the dark abyss of unconsciousness.