Electric

chapter four

I can't handle being strapped down to this chair another time. The metal bites into my back like a bad headache, and the temperature doesn't help. A little while ago I was thrust into this chair and left with no instructions. Even Dexter and Parker have yet to make their appearance. So here I sit, still as a statue, and counting the dots in the ceiling.

    Over time, I've learned to find entertainment in ceilings. They're all different. Some ceilings have little cracks, or have patterns, or have tiny dots like this one, or are padded like the one in my cell. I've learned to sit or lie still and count these unique differences.

What else am I supposed to do? When I'm ushered through the hallways, I can hear the other patients throwing themselves around in their cells. The guards laugh at them sometimes. They find it so humorous these people are becoming crazy and impractical. The guards here are cruel.

    During our eating break, I can look at the patients in the cafeteria and see them shaking and mumbling to themselves. There are only a few sane people here and sometimes I wonder if I'm one of them. I mean, I've been here longer than most, so if I was slowly going delirious it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.

Seven years is a long time to be counting quirks in the ceiling.

    In the beginning, I was less rational than I am now. Back then, I was angry for what happened to my family right in front of my eyes. I couldn't believe the world was so screwed up that that would happen. How could the beloved Prominence allow such a thing? I guess that in the beginning, I just didn't understand.

After anger, it went to fear. I was afraid that the man in the seamless suit would come and have his way with me as well. I would curl up in a ball in the corner of my cell and cry my eyes out. My mind was a sweater with a loose thread, and this was my consciousness slowly unraveling until it was just a long piece of yarn.

    I could have sworn I was going insane.

    One day the fear drifted away silently and unadulterated hatred replaced it. I hated the Prominence with every fiber of my being. I still do, but back then it was all I could think of. My mind was stuck in the fantasies of taking a gun to that man's head and pulling the trigger.

Now I'm detached. In imitations, I give a little effort just to give Dexter some data. During torture sessions, I try to remain quiet but sometimes it just hurts too much. How much I eat during break varies with how much pain my starving stomach is giving me. And when asked questions I try to be as limited in answers as possible. The Prominence has enough patients to test on. I don't need to help them in their research.

    It may not seem like I've been through a lot. Compared to a lot of other lives, though, and especially how mine used to be, my life is hell. Or it might seem like I've been through too much. Having to witness what happened to my family, being shoved in an asylum right after, and then being tortured and experimented on for the next seven years. Yeah, some may say that someone does not want me to have a happy life.

    "Alright, Riley my dear. Are you ready?" Dexter asks as he enters. Parker comes in behind him, the renowned frown upon his face. He always looks so disappointed. It's as if he expects very little and still the world disappoints him in some way or another.

    That's why I keep my expectations really low.

    "How would you like me to answer that question?" I ask in return and Dexter just stares at me, not understanding.

I glance over at Parker and he shoots me a disapproving look. Yes, I know. Dexter is under the allusion that all of the patients here have come to do these experiments willingly, to better the Prominence.