30 short stories

Day 3- Clarity

Day 3- Clarity

All I wanted was some answers, some clarity; neither of which I received.

It had been around a month like this, or I think it was that long. It was hard keeping track of time when all I saw each day was whiteness. From the clothes I wore to the room I was locked in, even the chains that bound me to the chair were white.

I didn't feel hunger, thirst, or the need to relief myself. It was as if my body functions were frozen in time.

I've tried to receive answers. Answers from the people in white who would frequent this cell. Yet they wouldn't speak. All they did was examine. Some of them would only touch my wrist and my neck, check for a pulse. However a few did something much worst.

Occasionally a person in white would come in holding a small tool. They would take this tool and fasten it to one of my fingers. When pressed the tool would slice the finger off in one foul swoop. The person would then take my finger and leave.

It never hurt. Yet at the same time it felt so wrong. There was never any blood, however the bones and muscles of the knuckle could be seen once the finger was detached.

After all their visits I just had one finger left, my left pinkie. I could move it. I would move it up and down and up and down, over and over again. It was as if I was trying to record what it felt like before it was removed.

This is what I was doing when they walked in. Two people in white holding a tool I hadn't seen before. It was large, much larger than the one I had grown accustomed too.

They approached me and undid the restraints that strapped my right arm to the chair. One of them held it still, while the other strapped it into the device. Near my shoulder the device was equipped with a blade.

I screamed. I knew I wouldn't feel any pain, yet I still emptied out my lungs. I thought they would stop at the fingers, but they weren't. They were taking me apart, piece by piece.

The sound of bone cracking filled the air as they pushed down on the tool. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out.

"Why are you doing this?" I screamed, "Please, just tell me what's happening?"  I begged as they left the room with my dismembered arm.

I felt broken, unwhole. I wailed an unearthly howl as I tried my hardest to remember why I was here.

I wailed for day after day, never stopping, never needing to take a breath. I wailed waiting for someone to give me answers, give me what I wanted to hear.

My calls were answered.

Eventually a person walked in, not wearing white but black instead. They approached and I stopped screaming.

"I've heard you wanted answers." They spoke in a monotone voice.

"Please."

"Your one of our failed experiments." They said giving me a second to come to terms with what they said.

"You were one of our attempts at creating a humanoid, one that had every function of a human. We were able to create you to move, speak, and talk, but not feel. This is the reason you have no need and no pain." They elaborated.

"Then why are you taking my limbs?"

"We are disposing of you. We are taking the parts of you that we think may be useful for our next attempt." They answered.

After a few moments of silence, they turned and left without another word.

I shut my eyes and wished I could take it back. I wished that I could take back my want for answers, for clarification.

In the end all I discovered was
that I was nothing but a failure.

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This one was hard to write and kind of sucks.