Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Peter

Three days went by, each one more confusing than the last. I never got a full night of sleep, and today was no different. I had spent the night pacing around my room, blinking off for no more than one hour before waking up and doing it all over again. I didn't even realize it was morning until my bedroom door was pushed open and light flooded in from the hallway. With aching limbs and heavy-lidded eyes, I sat up. "Hello?" My scratchy voice called. Papa walked in with his typical suit and perfectly styled hair.

He offered me a soft smile, "How did you sleep, Sixteen?"

Awful. Get me a new mattress.

"I slept fine," I replied, "What time is it?"

"I thought you had a clock in your room," He tilted his head, "I suppose the orderlies removed it. We can never be sure how a new patient will react to... the transition from the outside world, so sometimes objects that could be used as weapons are removed." A strained silence ensued.

"It is 9:30 am," Papa continued with a clearing of his throat, "Before lessons begin, I wanted to give you a tour of the unit. How does that sound to you?"

I didn't answer his question and instead offered my own, "Lessons?"

"I've been a little lax on the rules, as you've just arrived," He began, "But manners are incredibly important around here. Ignoring my question and failing to return my greeting signify bad manners, indeed."

I narrowed my eyes. I had every right to ask questions.

I wasn't a child. Papa said I was eighteen years old, 'practically an adult.' So why was he scolding me as if I were 6? I didn't want to appear indignant, but my face gave me away. I would have to work on that.

Papa waited, hands neatly folded in front of him. My cheeks flushed, and I squirmed under his unrelenting glare. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Lovely," His smile didn't reach his eyes, "Let's go now, hm?" With that, he left. Not given another choice, I followed. We chattered lightheartedly as we toured the dismal, colorless hallways. The 'tour' was less of a tour and more of a lesson about where I could and could not go.

I counted 25 rooms overall. I could go in 3 without supervision. My bedroom, the nurses' office, and the bathroom. My head was spinning.

"You'll like the last room," Papa exclaimed as we walked towards a set of two doors, "It's a favorite among your siblings, referred to as 'The Rainbow Room.' Every day, you'll get two hours of free time to enjoy everything it has to offer."

"Sounds good," I replied mindlessly. If I could, I would give him the silent treatment for the rest of my time here. However, the last time I tried to ignore him, he gave me a lecture. How many lectures had I endured so far? They seemed innumerable.

Papa pushed the door open. My breath caught.

'The Rainbow Room' was, perhaps, the most dreary of all. Colorwise, it had much more to offer than the other rooms. A rainbow ran along the wall, spanning the length of the room. It posed a glaring contrast to everything else I'd seen here so far, and though the color should've been welcome in such a bland place, I found it so, so unsettling. The rest of the building was at least honest; obvious in its bleached mediocrity. There was no illusion, no attempt to shield anyone from the fact that it was a prison.

'The Rainbow Room' was not honest. No, it was a soulless husk attempting to placate the needs of children. The color did not distract me from the glaring truth; I was stuck here. And perhaps it was just the lighting, but even the rainbow seemed dull as if the facility was sucking the life out of it.
If that was the worst thing The Rainbow Room had to offer, perhaps I wouldn't have been as appalled.