Nonconformity | Henry Creel

The Great Escape

I sat in front of three bricks. Stacked neatly on top of one another, they resembled a pyramid. The room was utterly silent, despite the fact that there were nearly two dozen people in it. Papa stood at the other end of the metal table, jotting down notes on a clipboard.

Every patient had their eyes on me. I could feel each pair boring into the back of my head. My hair stood on edge as I squirmed in my chair, fruitlessly attempting to get away from their white-hot glares. It was as if they were breathing down my neck.

"You may begin," Papa spoke, finally breaking the eternal silence.

The child before me had pushed the top brick off of the pyramid and onto the table with little to no effort. He had to be a quarter of my age. The patient before him, Two, had pushed all three of the bricks entirely off the table without lifting a finger. I watched eight different children sit in the chair I now sat in, and each one of them managed to at least move the bricks. Some strained, some bled, some only nudged the bricks, but each one succeeded in some capacity.

And now here I sat, achingly still.

I hadn't even gotten instructions. A new orderly had just sat me down, placed some wires on my head, and walked away. I was frozen, fully occupied by the eyes pushing into my skull and the embarrassment that slowly crept into my veins. I'm not like them. I'm not powerful.

I glared at the bricks like the others did, praying that anything would happen. Anything to spare me the humiliation that had already begun taking precedence in my mind. The silence stretched on for what felt like years, and the bricks remained still. I waited for Papa to tell me to stop, to say I could go join the others, but he never did.

The room was silent.

And then it wasn't.

A snicker sounded from one of the kids. I whipped my head around to face Number 4 and glared at her through narrowed eyes.

"Focus, Sixteen," Papa urged.

The ball in my throat grew as I turned towards the bricks once again.

It went on like that for a while longer. I sat, desperately trying to accomplish the task at hand, and failed time and time again. I didn't even know where to start. The bricks never so much as shuddered. There were a few more mocking noises from the other patients, but I forced myself not to respond. I wouldn't have to deal with it much longer, anyways.

I was going to escape tonight. That thought and that thought alone prevented me from breaking down right there for all to see. I abandoned my attempts to move the bricks and instead focused on that. My anger recoiled as I approached something that resembled contentedness. I burrowed deep in my mind, seeking refuge from reality. Perhaps I could wish it all away.

Papa, and everyone else keeping me here, did not deserve my hopelessness nor my tears, and so they would not receive them.

Truth be told, I didn't really have a plan. All I knew was that an orderly paced the halls every night. I'd cause a commotion, draw him into my room, knock him out, and then wing it from there. It sounded simple in my head, though I knew it was going to be anything but. The alternative to escaping was much darker, so I forced myself into a naive state of optimism.

I would not allow Papa to bleed ink into my skin.

Not under any circumstance.

I would die before letting it happen.

"Sixteen, you may return to your spot," Papa's voice derailed my thoughts, and so I stood from my chair and returned to the patients, silent as a mouse. Though the snickering continued, I was not bothered. I was going to leave here tonight one way or another. Whether that would be escape or death, I didn't care. I would be content so long as I left.