Nonconformity | Henry Creel

I Got It

Another day passed without sleep. My own mind had turned against me. My body ached with a tiredness that lingered in every limb and polluted every thought. Free time before lessons passed in a haze of struggling to keep my eyes open and holding my hands over my ears to block out the air conditioning.

It never, ever worked.

Yesterday's training had depleted what little energy I had left. I didn't know how I would get through training today. Perhaps Peter would understand and allow us to skip lessons today? Oh, but probably not. They'd been cut short yesterday, he wouldn't allow that again.

I didn't even realize that the others had filed out of the room until there was a tap on my shoulder. When I faced Peter, his hands were folded in front of him, back straight as an arrow. I briefly wondered if Peter ever got tired. I figured the answer was no, since he was a robot.

If he noticed the growing bags under my eyes, he didn't show it. I suppose I wouldn't call them bags anymore-- they were industrial-sized storage containers. With his typical pleasant smile, he asked, "Are you ready for our lessons today?"

"Mhm," I replied dismissively, rising from my seat on unsteady knees. I followed him down a few hallways, thoroughly convinced I would fall to the ground at any moment. I welcomed the thought. At the very least, I'd be able to lie down.

"Today's training is going to be a little bit different," Peter announced with a sidelong glance, "Have you ever heard of sensory deprivation?" I shook my head. It sounded like a torture tactic. "I didn't think so. It's a relatively new technique, your Papa's been developing it for some time now."

"Sounds ominous," I muttered.

"I suppose it does, doesn't it?" His eyes glittered with amusement, "I assure you, it's anything but. Now, focus is incredibly important if you want to use your abilities. Sensory deprivation helps maintain that focus by protecting you against any outside distractions."

"So I'll be blindfolded?" I asked warily, "Can we just go back to the lamp room?"

"Don't be frightened, Number Sixteen. You'll do beautifully," He assured me. Peter's faith in me was staggering. I couldn't understand why, considering I'd done nothing to earn it. Then again, I suppose it was his job to have faith in me. He didn't really have a choice.

"I can't turn on a lamp, Peter. This sounds much more advanced than turning on a lamp."

He slowed down, falling in step with me, "You could turn on a thousand lamps, Sixteen. The blockage you've been experiencing doesn't come from a lack of power," He pressed two fingers against my head, "It comes from here."

"I'm not so sure," I breathed.

We stopped outside a set of double doors. His slender fingers wrapped around the handle. Before he pulled open the door, his gaze caught mine, "You trust me, don't you?"

A brief silence ensued. His aching blue eyes peered into mine.

"You know the answer to that," I replied. Of course, the answer was no. How could I be expected to trust anyone here, least of all him? I could hardly trust my own shadow. Just because we were stuck together didn't mean I considered him a friend, a mentor, or even an acquaintance.

We continued through the doors, and I was immediately taken aback. This was unlike any other room I had seen before. It was considerably warmer than the rest of the facility. The stench of chemicals burned my nose, so pungent it was almost difficult to breathe. The white tiled floor remained the same, running all the way up the walls and along the ceiling. Ahead of us was a pool of bright blue water. It occupied virtually all of the space in the room, aside from a few feet of concrete that ranged along the sides of it.