elimination

Our feet shuffle toward the auditorium in ominous silence. I woke with a jolt this morning having received a message via wrist port: It shall be mandated that you proceed to the auditorium after Acquisition of Sustenance. I walk shoulder to shoulder with Tight Rope and 12, my eyes downcast. 14 and Switch walk behind us, exchanging the occasional reckless whisper. We take our places numerically, but there are so many Titles gone that there is almost no point. I am between 12 and a nameless pawn. He has black eyes and black hair.

Officers in navy blue suits flank the doorway while Doomsday and Apocalypse stand with crossed arms in front of us. I view them with slightly shaky apprehension. 12′s lips are pursed. As I look over at the boy next to me my eyebrows scrunch together slightly. He has absolutely no facial expression. I scan the room. Everyone seems to share the same face. It’s unsettling, yet I have little time to dwell on the meaning. A black and white projection begins to play on the wall in front of us.

Images of perfect students typing on tablets flash across the screen as a sharp feminine voice begins to speak. “Congratulations on completing the initial stage of Practical Training. You have now met the basic standard for mental and physical discipline. In the following weeks you shall be proceeding with a new type of education that correlates less to your subjects of study in Past Events. Though the upcoming tests will not be entirely devoid of physiological aspects, you shall now be entering the psychological phase of this course.” My curiosity builds. I can see the same burning intensity in 12′s eyes. Yet as I look into the eyes of Eight I can’t see anything. An odd reckless thought tumbles through my brain and lands on the tip of my tongue.

I lean in and begin to whisper into his ear. “Ever think the textbooks might be wrong?” For a moment he stares at me like I have 13 noses before his face finally fills with an angry breed of confusion. “They can’t be wrong. They are textbooks.” His response comes without hesitation. I feel the warning of 12′s hand on my knee. For some reason I continue to speak. “Do you think everything we do in Practical Training makes sense?”

For a moment he frowns, the rusty gears in his head turning. “Without Practical Training we would be unable to fulfill the greater purpose.” 12′s grip tightens as I whisper one final question. “What do you think is the greater purpose?” His brain shatters. The primitive reaction is anger. He turns to me one last time making direct eye contact:“You are exceptionally odd.” At this 12 lets out a small laugh. Fingers land on my right shoulder clasping it with a slight squeeze. I turn to see 14′s judgmental stare coupled by one perhaps slightly amused eyebrow. I shoot him a half hearted death stare, a smile lingering underneath.

I leave the room in deep thought, narrowly managing to avoid walking headfirst into one of the officials. Maybe I am exceptionally odd. Maybe all of Bump Nose’s group is exceptionally odd. How is it that one person can live with doubt and curiosity while another can unquestioningly swallow every pill they are given? I shake my head slightly and run forward to catch up with the rest of the group. The world may never know.