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❝cause i'm looking at my lifeline and i'm taking what its time flies❞
☢︎
it's been a while since i was removed from the back of the truck. they strapped me onto a gurney and are now in the process of wheeling me away somewhere. i've lost my strength to fight, which is pitiful. i should be kicking and screaming, begging for them to let me go back to my sisters. being the heartless people they are, they couldn't care less about my problems.
we enter a hospital room that already has doctors sterilizing their supplies. a nurse runs her hand gently down my arm to calm me. it's not working, at all. she inserts a needle into the bulging vein on my forearm and injects a strange substance into me. the cold is searing and it's pressure is heavy on my bloodstream. what are they putting into me?
the nurse moves away and begins speaking to the male doctor as he cleans off his tools. the female doctor sits beside me, studying my vitals. she checks my eyes and ears with her miniature flashlight before typing notes into the computer beside my head.
"i'm scared," i whisper. the doctor looks at me through soft, sympathetic brown eyes. my own cold, brown gaze darts around with worry. i've never felt fear before, but i certainly feel it now. i hate it.
"i know," i can see the pitiful frown beneath her blue mask. "it'll all over soon, okay?" she takes my hand and squeezes it. i stiffly nod, but i'm not sure how much i believe her.
the male doctor has removed himself from his post and is injecting another needle into my arm. the female doctor lifts up my shirt and places small patches with wires connected to them along my abdomen. she does the same thing on my temple and squeezes my hand once more. liquid floods my veins, but it's burning my insides this time.
"please," i cry out. the pain is unbearable. i need it to end. "please stop—"
"pressure is rising," a nurse says to the doctor. she nods, placing a breathing mask over my nose.
"stop, stop it!" i shriek. a third needle stabs into my arm. fluid rushes through my veins. i feel myself drifting off to sleep, but i fight to stay awake. i don't want them to begin the first phase of the program—not on me, at least.
"stop!"
☢︎
i narrow my eyes as they fly open, adjusting to the bright, white lights above me. the doctor beside me finishes cleaning the needle, unaware that i am awake. she places it up to the bulging vein in my neck and injects a clear, heavy fluid into my body. my eyelids droop, but i fight to keep them open. my body is completely exhausted from putting up a useless fight against these vile people.
the table sits up. i breathe slowly into the mask. my head lolls forward with my brown curls clinging to my face. i feel sweat slide down the bridge of my nose and drip onto my dirtied clothing. i feel disgusting. it's as though i've been stuck in this formerly stark white outfit for ages. it clung to my skin that is covered in dirt. after all, they dropped me a few times when i was fighting against them.
a metal door swings open. weakly, i lift my head to look at the newcomer. he's fairly tall with a surfer's tan and greying beard. his head is trimmed neatly just like his suit is washed and pressed. he holds a clipboard tightly to his chest. the man lifts up the spectacles that draped around his neck, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he sits down in the swivel chair.
"normani kordei," his voice isn't as high and mighty as i thought. more of an intelligent nerd who's opinion is often overlooked. yeah, that's what he sounds like.
"you know why you're here," the man looks at me with pure disgust on his face. i'm sure my appearance isn't very pleasing to the eye.
"i don't," i mutter. "i shouldn't be here." he looks at me for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. i frown. there's nothing funny about this situation. i should be at home with my siblings right now, not strapped to a gurney surrounded my doctors.
"but you should," the man tugs on his silver, trimmed beard. "my name is atticus blood. i am one of the informants for wicked. i believe you've heard of this organization, correct?" i nod my head. they are evil fools who think that science experiments can run our country. unfortunately, many nations have agreed with this mindset and have sent diplomats to oversee the project. i am only a small part of the experiment.
"good," atticus sniffles and looks at his clipboard, humming as he drags his fingers down my charges. "let's see. you've shoplifted before—" i open my mouth to deny it, but he silences me with a finger. "—don't deny it now. we have proof that you and your little group of misfits have stolen before. you're not an angel." i roll my eyes. if he knew the reason, i wouldn't have to be in this mess.
"you also murdered your step-father," i swallow. "i hear he was abusive and a drunk. andrew roberts, correct?" he doesn't wait for my answer. "now, i believe you stabbed him repeatedly. why did you do that?"
"he was hurting my sister," i hoarsely whispered. "i didn't mean to kill him, i just wanted to hurt him so he would leave my sister alone." atticus nods, scribbling that down on his clipboard.
"may i ask," his beady black eyed glare into mine. "what is your sexuality?" i freeze. this question was bound to come up.
in our society, liking someone of the same gender is strictly forbidden. after a tremendous disease wiped out the majority of the world's population, procreation became essential. by the ages of twenty-seven to thirty-two, you are to have a baby in your stomach. if you cannot marry or produce a child, you need to go to a surrogate. it's a known rule and fact that you need to be heterosexual. apparently, our world will be damaged if you aren't.
his beady black eyes pry through my brain. the hair on the back of my neck bristles as he attempts to read my mind's deepest thoughts. "i-i'm bisexual."
"that is illegal," is his quick reply. "you know this, i'm sure. you cannot procreate with women." i nod. i've heard this all before. my mother said it to me once. she accepted me, of course, but she had been extremely worried about my safety. who wouldn't? in our dystopian country, nothing is safe.
"you're full of bad choices," atticus says to me as he tugs in his stubbly, silver beard. i click my tongue and shrug.
"sorry that i didn't have the resources to provide for my family like i should," i gruffly reply with a glare. "not all of us are rich like you. some of us have to steal to survive. clearly, you didn't know this." the man is obviously surprised by my defiance—it's written clear as day all across his middle-aged features.
"well then," he clears his throat and gives me the fakest smile ever known to man. it's as though he takes pleasure in watching my demise slowly unfold after deteriorating in this place.
