Gears (NaNoWriMo 2017) (#1 Below the Machines)

Chapter 16

It was strange how much I dwelled in words. Meaningless, really, all of it. But I couldn't help think of how they are toned, and how they manipulate. They influenced me, however much I didn't want them to. But I couldn't stop it. The part of me that was my subconscious always nagged me, saying that I shouldn't fall to this — that I shouldn't let myself be brought down like this, that whether words would be useful or not, painful or happy, depended on me. But I was programmed to respond to words. I was the listener. I would always obey. Well, not always always. I almost flinched at this thought.

The words I had received from the Lieutenant-General were definitely painful. The shock hit me only after our encounter, shaking me, and washing over me like a tidal wave. A mix of ice and fire, running through me, prideful words of congratulations and success.

You would've expected the opposite to have more of an affect on me, but no. The way he praised me, although cold and short, was sickening. I was beginning to feel a new sense — of what I knew was nausea. I had killed a girl, a girl who wasn't even considered old enough to be an adult yet. An innocent girl who didn't deserve to have that ripped from her, whatever that secret she had kept might have once been. Even though she wasn't naive, I wanted her to be — so badly. Because she had been a friend. And he was applauding my performance

It's been a while since I've done any mulling over my lack of the ability to speak, but never in my life had it seemed so agonising not to. Ever since that medic told me that I was going to be fine without the ability to converse, I've believed it, but it's been well over a week since she had said that. I realised that over a while, the words had started to fade from my mind — started to stop repeating whispers in my head.

"You finished your task?" The Lieutenant - General asked, his steely eyes running over my own, staring into me, asking me for the words that I could not give him.

I nodded, then shrugged nonchalantly, knowing that my expressions and actions displayed everything. I couldn't let him know anything — I couldn't let him know that I felt anything. Because when he asked, he wasn't asking based on trusting me to answer honestly, he was asking me for the hints to whether or not the task was finished in a fashion that meant I did not care that I had just cut a life short. He already knew that the girl was dead after all. He had to know.

I did it. My eyes said, confirming a lie.

I was too close. I didn't do it. I failed you. Was what I really wanted to say.

"Well, then I assume that you also made progress on collecting information on this girl too?" He asked, still keeping that gaze even.

I nodded once more. Yes. I know a lot about her.

I know that she was a friend. I know that she loved and had a passion for many things. I know that she betrayed this military — that she know things she wasn't supposed to know. I knew that she was defiant. I know that her family died in the bombs. I know that she died in the bombs. Like me. She lost a part of her. Her soul. And I know that she wasn't supposed to die yesterday. I know I know I know. But she was dead. So what I used to know about her became what I knew about her. I almost let those words slip into my gestures — into my posture and into my eyes. Almost.

"Could you relay that information to me right now?"

I nodded, after a second of hesitation, and gestured for paper. "Hart." The Lieutenant glanced behind him at the Major, who was watching our one-sided conversation with great interest — as if he knew something that I didn't. I eyed him with ware. It was his knife that I had found that night. It was his blade, but it was also the military's training blade. He stood and went over to Flores desk, picking up a few scraps of loose paper, and also grabbing a pen along with it.