X Genes, Bitch

They led her down a long hallway. It was dark, and the walls were egg white. It wasn't displeasing to the eye, yet something about the ambiance seems a bit off. The woman to her right gave her a small smile when she glanced her way. The man to the right was not friendly at all. He has thick eyebrows and a long pointy nose. He did not glance at her at all.

That morning, she saw her dad packing up some of her clothes.

"Where are we going?” she asked. But her father did not reply. Her mother was at the kitchen, sitting near the round table where they used to have their tea. They would eat small lemon cakes and chocolate toffees, while her mother and Aunt Beth talk about the 90’s where they used to go skinny dipping in the lake. She just sat quietly and timidly, biting on the crust of the half baked cupcake. She liked it that way. She missed those times. She wondered what happened. Her father just came home one day, and she heard him and her mother talking about the cutting short of electricity. From then on there were no more lemon cakes and half baked cupcakes. No more sitting at the round table with Aunt Beth. The last time she saw her, she shouted at her mother, “No more money borrowing!” They weren’t so close anymore. She had a brother, but the last she saw of him was when he went away when father slapped him too hard which caused him a bruise.

“We’re here” The woman said. ‘Here’ was a room with a chair that contains different tools. She did not recognize any of it, much less recognize the other stuff lurking around the different tables.

“Sit, honey” Now there were other people around the room. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They were all wearing suits, like Mr. Jester, her mother’s dentist.  She sat on the chair. It went low in her back, almost like she was lying down instead of sitting up. They placed blue cuffs in her hands, and injected something blue in her shoulders. She did not remember anything but haze after that.

When she woke up, she found herself in a room with weak infused lights. There were still cuffs in her hands, and they were tighter now. It had a hard grip in her armrest, and it was uncomfortable.

The gadgets around her convey a negative feeling. She did what an 8 year old would do, if she was in her place. Struggle, and scream. If you were handcuffed in a chair, wouldn’t you?

She screamed for her father and mother, but no one came. No one visited, and no one bothered to visit how she was doing. Not on the first day, or the second, or the tenth. She lived in an automated cell for almost a year, only going out of the room to meet scientists huddled around her. The rest are white hazes and dreams.