He sat in the room. Waiting. They were always waiting. For what, he didn’t know. He assumed that someone knew. Most of his life, before the Treatment, was forgotten. He saw little flashes; a woman smiling at him, a color, a flash of light.
He turned to the mirror-like chrome that consisted of most the walls, unless they were bright white, made even more so by the great fluorescent lights that hung above them. He looked hard at the wall, and tried to make the same expression as her, but it was hollow.
He turned away, almost disappointed, but not. It was like art, the attempt of pulling back his lips. It looked nice, but he couldn’t feel anything else about it, and certainly couldn’t remake it. No one here could remake it.
No measure of time, no feeling as to what’s to come.
He turned a corner, and saw another like him. They all looked the same, old and tired, and blank. He knew he was a little different. He was less wrinkled, but still blank. All blank. The few of them left, all blank. No one looking different, no new faces.
He once asked, Why? Why no new faces? No different people. In a dull tone, told, told that there was no need. We live forever. We can not be hurt. New faces means less space. No more disgusting habits. No more women. All the same. All the same, forever. Be careful, you are youthful, almost different. Same, forever.
He had wandered once, and found a rare treasure. A shred of wall, broken. Sharp. Barb. Ridged. A gift.
He took the gift, carefully hid it. Alone, room, his. He pricked his finger. Pain .Good pain. Blissful pain.
He looked at his finger. But the Treatment had taught his body, taught to heal. Skin is to mend. Pain is forgotten. No blood to be shed. Monochromic monotony. The Gift is lost. Taken out with the waste.
More wandering. No exit. Chrome and white. No black, no red, no blue, purple, yellow, green, nothing.
Wandering, dazing, thinking, dreaming, remembering. The woman, water running down from her eyes, why? No lips pulled back, but not hollow. Full, so very full. A room, bright fluorescent lights, but there is color there. Pain, in his elbow. Water running from his eyes, his nose. More of the crying woman, a touch, an envolptation. Smothering warmness, then cool, too cool. Something about the end coming. An explosion. Underground. Safety, forever, in chrome and white.
He stops. He is done wandering.
A door.
There are no doors in this Safety. A door means hiding, invisibility, individual. Different. Feelings.
Feelings hit him. Agony. Happiness. Rage. Crying. Smiling. Anguish. He hits the floor, hunched up. The Treatment, it’s eternity, it’s wearing off. So many feelings. He lies, breathing hard. He gets up, leaning on the door handle. He faces the door. Pulls, pulls, pulls, pulls. Opening a crack.
A loud bang. His ears ringing. Pain, pain in his chest. He touches it. Pulsating. Abhorrent. Beautiful. Wet. Red. Blood.
“Bleeding. I bleed!” and he fell.
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