Numb

by Isabelle Carey

  Still, I can't help but feel a tingling of disbelief. I glance at my watch. Only two minutes remain until the Purge. If I can hold off until then, then I will be fine. The medicine will help me remain impassive and impartial to what I have to do next.

  I should stop reading until then but yet I continue. Admittedly, the current page has stirred up a smattering of curiosity in the back of my mind.

  I mimic others for a living—real people, not characters so that's the difference between a movie star and myself. I find it ironic that I can even compare myself to actors since they are the only citizens allowed to break the rigid laws established by our totalitarian government. Our glorious leaders only permit the production of plays and movies to warn everyone about the dangers of openly displaying emotions.

  The paragraph ends there. More words follow but they are all crossed out until the bottom of the page. Perhaps she intended to make revisions.

  I've even had my fair share of starring roles over the past year. I imagine every day as a new film, which is what keeps me going through this humdrum existence some might call life. There is always a setting, a plotline, and a supporting cast. Each time, I immerse myself fully into preparing for the same role. There is a script but I don't learn most of it until I arrive on set. I also have to do everything in one take so that there's no room for errors. If I miss a line or make any other small mistake, the entire movie is ruined. There are no reshoots because the government won't allow it.

  My life is like a movie but it won't have a happy ending. My life is like a movie because it is not real. Everyday, I live a lie. I have no creativity, no individuality. I am just like everyone else.

  I can't understand why she believes this. The laws of society have been grounded into all of us from the day we are born. No one should feel this way. In fact, no one should feel at all.

  My grip tightens even more around the loose leaf. One more minute until the Purge.

  I flip to the second page and read a bit more, scanning over more crossed out sentences.

  I feel like my life is in Technicolor. Saturated hues. Reduced lighting. Such is the effect of modern-day digital cities. The buildings of late might imitate architecture of the past but the architects always add too much color to the palette. They also tweak the brightness and contrast knobs a little too low.

  And it ends there. I wonder briefly about what I've just read. It could be a letter as Sophia suggested, or a journal entry. It could also be the beginning of a novel, but novels that don't uphold our values are unmarketable. This is one offense I will conceal for her sake. She's already in enough trouble. I fold up the pages and pocket them.

  Then, it's time. I exit the bedroom and follow everyone outside. The media and the civilians receive a glimpse of the woman in custody, but they make no reaction other than gazing at her with watchful eyes. We gather around the trucks, right as they dispense the pink gas. All across the island, every respectable citizen pauses his or her daily activities momentarily to take the Purge.

  The gas grows thicker and spreads across the area like a dense fog. I squeeze my eyes shut and open my mouth to embrace the Purge. I stand there for ten minutes, inhaling in as much as I can, an indescribable aroma overwhelming my sense of smell.

  When it is over, I feel nothing. I no longer feel hollow but rather placid. My normal self has returned. I return to the house. Officers escort the criminal back upstairs in handcuffs where Sophia and I will question her.

  I'm ready to interrogate her. I no longer care that she's my mother. Now, she's just another criminal to me.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte

  Currently Listening To: "Paradise" by Coldplay

  The government unleashes the Purge into the streets because they claim that it's safer.

  Apparently, it's better to inhale the Purge in an open space instead of an enclosed one. Outside, the gas particles have plenty of room to spread out, meaning that people will receive the correct dosage. Inside, the particles compress into a concentrated dose that's really dangerous if inhaled for too long.

  I think this is a lie. I believe that we take the Purge outside so that those in power can keep an eye of us. Behind closed doors, it's easier to hide and not take the one medication that's pivotal to keeping everyone in line.

  It amazes me how the lies of the government are construed as truth. The wool over the eyes of the citizens must be really thick.

  Welcome to another lovely day in Paradise.

  As the trucks thunder away and everyone on the sidewalk continue on their merry little way, I emerge from the dark alley and remove the scarf concealing my gas mask from my mouth.

  The scarf dangles around my neck, as I stroll across the street at a crosswalk. The scarf is a little heavy but it's more than fashionable decoration. It keeps me sober.

  The pink gas has faded and the air is clean again. The bright blue sky is visible again, along with a gilded sun. Compared to yesterday, the weather is beautiful.

  The setting is downtown Paradise, near the Core, the indoor city where the government rules in seclusion. I skipped school today to deliver the package. Since my father is very sick, I am allowed to miss a certain amount of school days per semester. I hate it when missions for SAFE causes me to use unnecessary absences but the payment I will receive is worth it, especially since my father's medical bills have skyrocketed as of late.

  The government probably wonders how we are able to afford everything but so far, they haven't asked any questions. Healthcare is pretty decent so my father's insurance covers about sixty percent of his medical charges. Since he's unable to work, he also receives a disability check each month. The rest I make up for as a Messenger.

  I'm fifteen, the age where I can apply for an after school job. But I prefer my current one. The hours are flexible, the pay is great, and I get to play dress up sometimes.

  This morning I'm in disguise, pretending to be a twenty-six year old woman named Ava Suarez.

  Miss Suarez has an interesting history according to the encrypted file I received last night from the Entity. She didn't always live in Paradise, making her a member of a unique club that comprises barely two percent of the island's population. She hails all the way from London but is Chilean in heritage, so she's fluent in English and Spanish. Today, she was scheduled for a mating appointment—until I replaced her.

  Late last night, I phoned her under the guise of a representative from the clinic. I informed her that her appointment was rescheduled due to an undisclosed reason, and that I would call her back soon with the new date and time. It was so easy and she didn't even care.

  Because love is the most outlawed emotion in our society, the government fabricates families like engineered products. The government also arranges marriages. How they decide which two individuals are capable of living together without expressing love is beyond me. I imagine some kind of lottery where names are selected randomly. Race and age are not factors so it's common to find interracial couples or twenty-year-olds that wed fifty-year-olds. I am the child of an interracial pairing myself. My father is black and my mother was white.

  If the world was different, I wonder if people of different heritages would feel comfortable marrying one another. I wonder how a young person fresh out of college would enjoy sleeping next to someone old enough to be his or her father or mother. I also wonder what it's like to fall in love with someone. I knew somebody who did once and it didn't end so well for her.

  The only ideas of love I have come from books. Love didn't seem so bad when it was allowed. In fact, love tended to make things better. At the conclusion of most novels I have enjoyed, love triumphed over everything and was the basic foundation of all relationships. Love leads to companionship and then to marriage and then to children.

  Now, married couples produce offspring when the government mandates it. Being married isn't the only way to bring children into the world. Occasionally (also seemingly at random), the government selects adults with ce
rtain genetic traits to participate in mating rituals. A digital letter arrives via email one month before your scheduled date. It's compulsory like jury duty. Failure to attend equals a severe penalty.

  Exactly one month ago, Ava Suarez was chosen to mate with a man called Noah Emerson. I don't know much about him except that he's the intended recipient of the package. But I do know a lot about Ava.

  Her occupation involves studying the social interactions of human beings. Sounds like a pretty boring job, as the Purge prevents everyone from having eventful social interactions. Her job is the reason why she ended up in Paradise. I assume she's here to study criminals who actively express their emotions. I'm sure they're interesting subjects. I suppose I would be too. After all, I am a criminal. I just haven't been caught yet.

  Ava has blonde hair so I'm donning a golden wig over my curly black hair. The wig is long and straight, pulled up into a waterfall ponytail. My hazel eyes are light brown thanks to contacts. Ava has a thin, bird-like face so my stylist, Lilly Hendricks, applied the right amount of makeup to my cheeks to create the illusion of a more gaunt appearance. I don't know how she does it but Lilly is a genius with cosmetics and hair care products. She also gave me a prosthetic nose that mimics Ava's longer and more prominently tipped one. My own nose is small and round.

  Ava is as much of a fashionista as one can be in the modern world, so I have my feet squeezed into a pair of thousand dollar sling pumps that I borrowed from Lilly. The shoes are purple and black to match my beaded jersey cocktail dress and my scarf. I don't even want to know how expensive the dress is but it belongs to Lilly as well. By day, Lilly is an actress, performing in movies with the same recycled plotlines that warn citizens about breaking the laws of the land. By night, she's a member of SAFE and a connoisseur of forbidden artwork.

  After crossing the street, I walk briskly towards the glass entrance of the facility, my heels echoing loudly against the concrete beneath my feet. The BioLife Center for Genetic Research building looms before me. Here, scientists study genetics and make advancements in medicine using stem cells. Children are conceived here, some naturally and some scientifically. I am a product of BioLife, my parents two of those special individuals chosen to breed outside of marriage. This is also the place where I will meet Emerson and hand over the package. He'll probably be disappointed that I'm not the real Ava Suarez, but he won't show it on his face. There are cameras everywhere, even inside the private rooms where mating takes place.

  All night, I studied the layout of the cameras tracing my path up to Emerson's suite. Inside the suite, there are three cameras, so I know where to make the drop. Once I do so, I will chat with Emerson for a bit as if we're having a conversation before the mating ritual. Then, after a few minutes, I will get him to call up a nurse. I will inform her that it's my time of the month, the only effective way to have the ritual rescheduled. She will check me, something I'm prepared for, and then I will be free to leave. When I'm back home, I'll call the real Ava and relay the new appointment to her.

  In theory, it's all a piece of cake. But everything depends upon Emerson, who is a stranger to me. I wish the Entity provided me with some intel on him other than photos.

  What is Emerson's connection to the Entity, or SAFE for that matter? More than likely he's a rebel since the Entity wants me to deliver an envelope with contents unknown to him. But still, I can't help but feel slightly on edge as I stroll into the facility.

  The twenty-story BioLife facility rests on the banks of the Utopia River, which meanders its way from the northern ruins down to the southern bay. The entire building is glass, supported by a metal framework. I pull open one of the glass doors at the main entrance and step into a wide, cavernous foyer that reminds me of an art gallery. Poster-sized digital advertisements decorate the walls like studio portraits. They flash brilliantly with ads and news updates like the billboards that frequent the roads outside. Light sconces with curving goosenecks illuminate the area. The paint coating the walls is periwinkle blue. The black marble floors reflect my image in all of its distorted glory. Scientists traverse the lobby, garbed in white or blue coats depending on the area of research—biological and technological respectively.

  I strut across the lobby, aware of the eyes upon me as I slice a path through the dense traffic towards the front desk. Three women occupy the desk, directing visitors to their destinations or assisting potential clients via video chat. Two pairs of guards stand on opposite ends of the desk, manning security checkpoints where they will check my ID before I'm allowed to step foot anywhere beyond the lobby.

  I join the queue and wait patiently for my turn, willing myself to relax. I peer through the wall of windows, gazing fondly at the Utopia River. I can almost hear the water flowing and I think back to when I was seven, the last time I was this close to the river. I was eating lunch with my father and my twin sister, Scarlett. My younger sister, Abigail, was sick inside of BioLife with pneumonia. This was before my father fell ill and before Scarlett was arrested. We sat at a table in the center of the botanical gardens, watching the boats sail across the glistening water. Scarlett picked a yellow bell-shaped plant tinged with red streaks along its petals from the edge of the gardens. The specimen was native to the northern ruins, the wastelands where a huge uprising took place about a year before Scarlett and I were born. Its true name was the red-tipped field lily; however, it earned the nickname Golden Phoenix after it became the only plant to grow from the charred soil. The plant was my mother's favorite. She died when I was about three, right after giving birth to Abigail. My mother was infected with a bizarre form of cancer that's killing off people left and right. So far, Abigail and I are cancer-free, but my father currently has the same disease.

  I shake off the memory and walk up to the counter when it's my turn. I reach into my purse to produce a digital document, created by one of the Entity's associates. It's my registration form to participate in the mating ritual. Or rather it's designed to resemble Ava's form all the way down to the internal coding.

  One of women at the desk peruses the document through dark-rimmed cat eye spectacles. I watch her silently, careful to keep my face impassive like I'm always forced to do out in public.

  "All right, Miss Suarez. It says here that you're scheduled to partake in the mating ritual with Mr. Noah Emerson." She eyes me suddenly. "Any illnesses you wish to disclose at this time? It is important that you're healthy during the ritual to safely produce an offspring." If she could, I believe she would have smiled then. People in the books I've read are always excited about pregnancies.

  I shake my head. It's too early in my plans to reveal that I'm on my period. That has to remain a surprise for now. "No," I respond in a Cockney accent, mimicking Ava's speech patterns. "I am not currently sick."

  "Okay then." She connects the reader to her computer through a digi-link cable. She types something with swift moving fingers. "I am uploading credentials to the security checkpoints. When you swipe your identification card at one of the kiosks, the credentials will automatically download after the guards verify your identity. Your ID card will become your key to access the elevators and Mr. Emerson's suite, which is located up on the seventh floor, room 713."

  "I understand," I tell her, my words flowing naturally in Ava's dialect.

  She types for a little while longer and I note the guards standing in a cluster near the elevators. My eyes linger on them for a little while and I'm a tad bit curious about all of the security measures. BioLife is very important to the economical stability of Paradise but it appears that the guards are gearing up for a war since they have their weapons drawn. Or perhaps they're waiting on something to happen.

  I'm suddenly very nervous and my eyes shift to all the cameras in the lobby one-by-one. I count twelve and they're all located exactly where they're supposed to be. The gaze of three of them crisscross in front of me, adding to the uneasiness I feel.

  I begin to perspire when the woman stops tying and regards me again
. "You're free to proceed to one of the checkpoints, Miss Suarez."

  I don't say anything. Quietly, I approach the right checkpoint kiosk where the two female guards halt me. First, they check me thoroughly for concealed weapons. Once I'm in the clear, one of them searches my purse. She finds nothing of interest, unless my neuro player transmitter, makeup, chewing gum, and hairbrush are interesting items. So, she returns my purse and instructs me to scan my ID at the reader affixed to the nearby terminal.

  I swipe my ID as I am told, without removing it completely from the reader. Driver's license, bank accounts, credit cards, job credentials—there's nothing that the magnetic strip on the back of this little plastic card can't do. To prevent theft, everyone's ID card contains a chip that only reacts to the brainwaves of its proper owner. It's also hack-proof, the chip's cipher almost impossible to break. I say almost impossible because of a circulating rumor that a very talented hacker cracked one a few weeks ago. Engineers are currently hard at work on developing a newer model with more advanced firewalls.

  On the outside, my ID reads false information pertaining to Ava Suarez. But on the inside, the chip is a replica of the one associated with my real ID. It's easier to replicate ID chips but not decode them.

  A red light on the panel flashes green, which means that the computer has positively verified my identity. Then, the light turns blue as new credentials are downloaded to the card. This happens in an instant. I remove my card and the guards allow me to step through the checkpoint.

  I take one last glance at the huddle of guards to the left. Some are talking, while others are silent. I try to not think about why they're here as I swipe my ID at the reader next to the central elevator. After receiving access, I jab the up arrow button. There are five elevators in all. After a moment, the one to my right chimes open. I enter and the doors close behind me.