by DK Andrews
groceries left in the cupboard. I’d managed to steal $50 from Gloria’s purse when she cashed her government check earlier this month and bought some groceries that I stashed at the back of the pantry.
Gloria is of course still passed out on the couch. Her snoring is so loud that sometimes I think our neighbors can hear it.
I love walking Micah to school—we talk about everything. Often, we imagine what our lives would be like without Gloria. In our imaginary world, we picture a new home that is clean and has a lot of natural light. We visualize Christmas dinners with Micah’s grandparents, great food, and friends dropping by. In our minds-eyes, we both see clearly the big, glittering Christmas tree and the presents underneath it. Micah dreams of getting a brand new bike, and I have set my heart on a bright red scooter. We hear laughter and music.
We arrive at his school—it’s depressing, just like everything else in my life. The grounds are dirty, full of garbage. The exterior hasn’t been renovated in a very long time. I wish the government would invest more money into helping poor neighborhoods. On the other hand, none of these things should be bothering me too much anymore. Next month Micah will be going to a much better school, and he will have many friends that will care about him the same way I do.
“So, you won’t forget to let me know about Bennett, right?” I ask Micah, handing him his backpack.
“I will, Lina. Thanks for walking me to school and sharing the day dreaming.”
Micah grabs his backpack, fixes his jacket, and locks eyes with me. He is waiting for a kiss.
I lean towards him, softly touch his nose, and then suddenly give him the biggest smooch first on his cheek and then his neck. We both laugh. Micah is extremely ticklish.
“Gotta go!” Micah giggles and waves to me.
I wait until he goes inside and then rush to the bus stop.
A long journey on the bus and I’m back at the Ultima Center at sitting in Dr. Kismen’s office.
“Good morning Alina. Did you want anything before we begin?” Dr. Kismen asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I’m extremely nervous and wonder what memory I will be re-living today.
“How was the rest of your day, after we parted yesterday?” Dr. Kismen says, making for small talk.
“It was good, thank you,” I say, lying. No point in getting into my home life with her.
“Excellent. I’m glad to hear that.” She pauses and takes a sip of her coffee from a black mug. Her desk is still neat and well organized. She quickly goes through my file.
“We shall begin now,” she says emphatically, finishing her coffee with one last gulp.
“Do we stay here?” I ask, impatient to begin the procedure.
“No. The session will take place in the Preparation room—I will take you there now.” She gets up and grabs a stack of plastic cards then opens the office door for me. I pick my backpack up off the floor and exit with her. She closes the door behind us, and it automatically locks.“Follow me,” she orders.
I obediently walk behind her. I start to wonder about Dr. Kismen’s life outside of the Center. When I see people on the street and picture their lives, most of the time I imagine them leading a depressing existence. Dr. Kismen is no exception. I picture her lonely life: she’s probably not married—I didn’t see a wedding ring on her finger—with an only her cat waiting for her at home. I’m curious if she likes her job, which to me seems pretty much to consist of euthanizing people and selling their life to someone else. Maybe after awhile you get desensitized to that kind of work.
“Do you have any questions?” Dr. Kismen asks as if sensing that I was analyzing her.
“Is the preparation process going to hurt?” I ask quietly, trying to cover my tracks.
“No. Don’t you worry about that. The preparation procedure is entirely painless,” she says reassuringly.
We reach the end of the hall and stop in front of the elevator. There is an uncomfortable silence as we wait for it to arrive.
“Will the Conversion hurt?” I ask, deciding to ask another question.
“No, don’t worry, it won’t hurt either,” Dr. Kismen says.
When the elevator arrives, we get in, and Dr. Kismen swipes one of her cards and presses the button for the 10th floor.
“We are going to the Laboratory where the preparation process and Conversion happen,” she explains.
“How many floors are there in the Ultima Center?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Fifteen,” she responds with a forced smile. It’s clear she doesn’t want me to ask her any more questions about the Center.
We get off on the 10th floor. It’s different than the other areas of the building I’ve seen so far: it’s not gray. The entire floor is white—creepy, hospital white, even. It glossy white tiles remind me of mental asylums in horror movies, and it frightens me.
Dr. Kismen can see my hesitation and uneasiness.
“Everything will be fine,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me.
“I know.” I tilt my head downwards.
“Come on, follow me.” She walks ahead, and I follow.
There is still no one around, no noise, no people, and no sign of life. Since yesterday, I’ve only seen two people in this entire building: Dr. Kismen and the receptionist. We walk down the white hallway passing different doors with numbered “Preparation” signs on them. We stop in front of the one labeled “Preparation 10.”
“Here we are,” says Dr. Kismen, swiping a card to unlock the door.
The room is clean and white and nearly empty; in the corner is a white desk with a computer and two chairs. White curtains cover the wall at my right.
Dr. Kismen sits at the desk and invites me to take a seat in the other chair.
A black bracelet with the word “Dator” printed on it is lying on the desk. Dr. Kismen picks up the bracelet and pushes a button on the side of it. Suddenly the computer screen turns on, and the bracelet lights up, emitting a high pitch ping.
“Activated,” an automated voice from the computer says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“This is the bracelet you will need to wear,” Dr. Kismen explains. “It’s water-resistant, so you’ll be able to shower with it on.”
A thought pops into my mind that since we have no water at home, I probably will not be taking many showers in the next 30 days.
“I will help you to put it on,” she says, waiting for me to roll up a sleeve.
“Does it matter which wrist it goes on?” I ask nervously, stroking the bracelet’s cold metallic surface.
“No.”
I roll up the sleeves of my hoodie and extend both my arms forward. Dr. Kismen glances at the scars from the cigarette burns running up the inside of my arms and tries not to let her eyes linger. She quickly fastens the bracelet around my right wrist and firmly locks it.
“What is it for?” I ask.
“To track your location and ensure your well-being,” Dr. Kismen answers.
“My location, my well-being?”
I’m feeling uncomfortable.
“In case you decide to run away, get lost, or injured-we have to consider all the risks associated with our investment,” Dr. Kismen responds.
Was this clever or disturbing news? I hadn’t thought of any of these things happening. Maybe Dr. Kismen can sense my doubt?
“I see. You also said something about my well-being?” I ask despite thinking that I already know the answer. They don’t want their Dators to be damaged in any way or worse die before the Conversion is completed.
“As I’ve mentioned, the preparation process can be very challenging for some people. Since you are not staying at Ultima full time during the process, we have to monitor you outside the Center,” she says.
“We need to ensure you are safe, healthy and that your life is not at risk at anytime over the next 30 days. The bracelet will not let you encounter any physical danger nor die when you are outside Ultima. It will monitor your h
eartbeat and know when you are in danger. If you put yourself at risk, it will release chemicals into your body that will cause you to pass out. Then, you will immediately be retrieved and transferred back to Ultima where you will be held until your Conversion. Similarly, if you fail to attend a session—we will presume you have or plan to escape. The system will once again cause you to pass out, and after you are retrieved and transferred to Ultima, you will not be allowed to leave the Center. Oh, and, to be clear, should you attempt to take your own life or run away, you will not be paid—your trust fund will be emptied.”
As I listen to her, I realize that my life no longer belongs to me. It is the property of the Ultima Center.
“Alina, you have made your decision. As of today, your life belongs—”
“—to Ultima?” I say, interrupting her.
“Well, yes, to Ultima for the time being, but, in the end, to the person waiting for it.”
Dr. Kismen gazes at me.
Of course…Someone is taking my life. They have paid for it and indeed paid a premium for a 50-year life span.
“Do you understand?” Dr. Kismen asks.
“I do,” I say with a crooked smile. “I do not intend to break any rules and will wait patiently for the Conversion.”
“Very well,” says Dr. Kismen, turning her attention to the computer screen. “Let’s begin.”
She gets up from the desk and pulls back a white curtain at the rear of the room. Behind the curtain is a glass wall. A bright white light fills the room, and I see a white hospital bed with what I think must be fancy medical equipment next to it. Dr. Kismen opens the glass door for me, but before