SONDER (IV): tmr thomas

For those we lost to the Grievers

Leo Short

Before I even open my eyes, I can feel that I am not alone. The sensation is not one that brings me comfort. Pinpricks run up and down my arms, revealing goosebumps. I am acutely aware that no one is holding me.

The light in this room is too white. My eyes ache as I strain to see the man in front of me. For a second, I wonder if I've seen him before. The contours of his face are familiar. He strokes his long nose with his fingers. They are so dull in colour that I imagine they have been frozen and are close to cracking off.

"We wanted to thank you for helping Miss Raphael," he sighs, pulling himself into the chair across from me. "She was getting rather out of hand."

I don't want his thanks. I want to leave this room. When we arrived, we were separated, and placed into rooms. I've been here for three days, people coming in and out. Checkups, brain scans, cleaning. They've measured my brain and my physical strength. I'm so hungry.

It seems that since last night, they have removed the bed and table that were in here and moved me to this chair. A strand of hair falls in my face. I move my hand up to it, but I am caught in place.

"I'm sorry about the restraints," he gestures to my hands. He doesn't apologize for the wires he has hooked up to my arms, nor the white pads which accidentally pin part of my hair back, stickers stuck to my temple.

"Is this necessary?" I ask, looking down. It probably isn't, but WICKED is WICKED after all.

"I have a question for you," he ignores me. As he speaks, his back stiffens in his chair. He pulls a pair of glasses out of his pocket with white, rectangular frames. The lenses make his pupils seem to bulge. "It is in regard to the others in your program. As I am sure you have surmised, you are the strongest candidate for our next procedure and as such, we wanted to make you aware of the following standards of procedure."

He sighs, glancing up at me. I gesture for him to go on, though I barely understand a word he says.

"Well," he continues, looking at the back corner. The door opens and a guard enters the room. The man across from me pauses for a few beats, before turning his head back to me. "Naturally, the others have provided varying results, but have served their means to our organization. Currently, we have no use for them as the experiment continues asides from dissection. However, we are only in need of two brains, and since you will suffer the greatest burden as this process continues, we wanted you to be allowed to choose the other candidate."

He waits for me to speak, but I'm not sure exactly what he is asking of me. "I'm sorry, Sir, I am afraid I need you to explain."

"In layman's terms," the door clicks open, but he doesn't turn around. The guard returns, a clipboard in hand. The man takes it from his hands. As the guard returns to his post, the man takes the white pen from its place, and clicks it. "We are done with the four girls of Group A. You are still useful to us, so we will keep you alive. We need to dissect two brains however, so we will let you pick who to keep alive."

My heart sinks in my chest. He can't be serious. I shake my head back and forth, stunned.

"Miss Da Vinci, I need you to think clearly," he puts his hand in his white lab coat, pulling out a silver remote. He sets it down on his clipboard. The guard walks over, grabbing the device, and returning to his post at the door.

I shake my head. I can't find words in my mouth. He can't kill them. He can't kill any of them. I can't pick who lives or dies.

"Very well," he begins. He nods his head, and electricity rips through my body. Quit like the skin of a whip, it wraps around my skin and tightens. All of my bones seem to vibrate within me, threatening to break the surface. I can't control my fluttering eyes or the grinding of my jaw.