MINDGAMES

When the lights dim, the scramble begins. No longer are you entitled to what you've always perceived as your own; suddenly, the game has commenced, and it is finders keepers. And if you lose your mind, someone else will seize it.

I pull Mize in for a close hug, face buried in his taut, muscular shoulder as I feel his calloused fingers brush against my short dark locks once, twice before we split apart and he lets his heavy eyelashes fall to shroud the tears that are already beginning to form in his eyes.

"Maya," he croaks, "I can't live through another night of this--knowing what I've done--"

"Tonight," I whisper, in a low voice so the Eradicants don't hear. "Remember what Mom said."

Dark, tangled brown hair flying in the rainy wind as her face contorted into a scream, her arms reaching imploringly for me as I felt myself snatched away. Her final words to my brother and me--

"Lie down," she said, "but do not sleep."

I gently squeeze Mize's hand tightly in mine before releasing it and turning to the narrow bunk beside his. The rusty bedsprings squeak in protest as I lay my small, skinny form upon the coarse, rugged mattress that is unworthy to be called a bed, devoid as it is of anything resembling home.

The bed beside me creaks as my twin brother turns over on it. I lie on my side, arms hugged to my chest, as the lights in the long room dim and forty-eight other mattresses squeak as their inhabitants anxiously await the inevitable which will follow after their eyes drop shut. That's when their minds will cease to be theirs, and fall into the palms of the Eradicants. That's when the guns are shoved into their hands and the orders are given. The orders are always the same.

Each night, we transform into the robots that roam the dark city streets, killing strangers at will, all of which the Eradicants have labeled to our computerized minds as Dispensables, those of average intelligence whom the Eradicants have segregated themselves from for 1000 years. As the moon makes its evening circuit, we make our evening murders, and in the morning we awaken to see blood on our hands in the daylight.

I do not know the souls that I release every time my robotic fingers pull at the trigger; I would not know them even if I remained in my senses. Of only one thing am I sure, and it is that they are humans like me, humans which must be exterminated if the Eradicants are to improve the human genetics of the population.

I can see them now through the wide pane of glass that shields them from us; our observers, clad in spotless white, as they perch on their pristine sofas to gaze at us. Their eyes shine with scrutiny and intelligence, as though they are scientists, observing an incredible natural phenomenon.

I imagine what will be seen tonight--the crowd I will be a part of if I do not maintain a tight hold on my senses. Fifty teenagers, identically clad in black to unite them with the shadows of the night. Marching. Guns tucked beneath their arms, stolid expressions on their stolen faces. Perhaps only forty-seven will return. Those that are killed off will never awaken from the slumber that was assigned to them tonight. In the morning, their beds will be empty, and by tomorrow night they will have been replaced. We are just as expendable as those we kill, and the day will come when the others are gone, and then the Eradicants will eliminate us as well.

Silence reigns throughout the chamber, broken only by the soft sounds of movement from the other bunks as we prepare for our killer-inducing sleep. I wait for the familiar jab in my skull, followed by the sudden rush of drowsiness that will drown me in my slumber.

The stab arrives, like a knife driven into my head, but my teeth grind each other and I force my eyes to stay alert. Resist the fall. No one will own me tonight. I strain against the invisible forces shoving my eyelids down, and in a sudden flurry of revival, I feel the sensation begin to evaporate, leaving me, an exhausted, drained, yet fully figure sprawled on the bunk.

I defeated it.

Around me, the others begin to arise from their beds, as though in a drugged dream, shouldering guns and clicking the heels of their shoes on the ground. I remain on my bed as they pass me like a multitude of zombies. Zombies whose genetics have already declared them dead.

Just as the awareness hits me that they will see I am not among the fifty, a new voice resonates from the loudspeaker in the corner of the room, declaring a threat that sends a rush of chills surging through me.

"Occupant #38 is to be exterminated immediately. Her brainwaves are too strong."

Realization sweeps over me of what a large fact I failed to take into consideration as Mize and I planned tonight's daring act of rebellion. They watch us every minute. My mind is not weak enough for them. I am utterly useless.

All becomes instantly silent in the long room, and I feel every pair of eyes set on me. The stillness is broken suddenly by the click of a gun, resounding throughout the reticence, and then I lift my eyes to see my brother, his face locked in a blank, mindless stare, pistol aimed at my nose.

"Mize..." I whisper, my voice hoarse. He will never know what he has done.

I don't know how much time passes, but we remain, frozen facing each other. Then, wordlessly, Mize's finger slips on the trigger, and I finally understand the truth I've been avoiding all this time.

"If you keep your mind too long, they take it from you. And this time you can't get it back."