elimination

I walk to Past Events enveloped in a silent buzzing excitement. Yesterday Bump Nose told us that today would be a group discussion. We have had these in the past; the teacher lectures the entire class and asks us questions that we answer out loud. I often wish we could ask questions ourselves, yet trying would be too much of a risk. We sit down promptly and begin to hang on every odd sounding syllable that Bump Nose, looking chipper this morning, chooses to speak. He recaps everything about early humans that we learned from the text asking us questions along the way. He ends his speech with the same ambiguity as the textbook: “The Greater Purpose was lost.”

Instead of immediately launching into the next thing as we are accustomed to he hesitates. He simply stares at us silently as if daring us to ask questions, yet no one is that stupid, not even me, and curiosity is my greatest vice. Yet for once I am wrong. As 12 begins to speak the temperature in the room seems to drop by hundreds of degrees. “Respectfully asking, how was the greater purpose lost?” The class collectively stops breathing. For a second Bump Nose is silent, yet instead of chastising 12, or worse, he seems to ponder his actions. He sits on his desk in front of us, with his head slightly cocked to the left. I am certain I am going to loose my most treasured partner in conversation when to my surprise he speaks.

“The Greater Purpose was lost because people, no longer relying on their innate urges for survival, became slaves to unregulated dopamine. They became lazy, selfish and corrupt.” Despite the silence and stoicism I can tell that the entire class is in awe. Will he answer all our questions? Is he still going to punish 12? An uncomfortable pause ensues. Then to my utter bafflement more hands shoot up as a male, 14, begins to speak. “How was the greater purpose recovered?” The classes’ ears seem to perk up as Bump Nose again begins to answer the question. “In modern society, impulses and urges are closely monitored and dopamine is regulated. To prevent weakness, standards for existence have also been raised.” At this point I can no longer contain my curiosity and excitement and my hand shoots up. Before I think the better of it, I ask the real question we all have, but are too afraid to speak: “What exactly is The Greater Purpose?”

At this point the class erupts into a chaos of gasps, and frantic chatter. Perhaps my inflection was a tad rude... My heart crawls up into my mouth as I search Bump Nose’s eyes, eager and terrified. His usual mysterious, but benevolent aura has been replaced by a cold sinister facade. For a moment he looks me dead in the eye, then he reaches for his wrist port and I erupt in flames—or at least that’s what it feels like. My entire body contracts as a buzzing electric shock resonates through me and I fall to the floor. I am blinded and burning tears pool in my eyes, my bladder threatens release, yet I know I won’t be allowed to stay down for long: crying is akin to disassembling oneself. With a strangled gasp I pull myself into my chair and sit once again in straight postured silence. My pulse is racing, and I can’t seem to stop shaking. I purse my lips and relax my face in a desperate attempt to subdue my tears.

Bump Nose begins to speak sharply and calmly. “Title Seven, such frivolous questions as yours are the product of a weak and idle mind. To prevent your mind from becoming such a breeding ground for vermin, you will be writing two extra essays per night for the next two weeks.” I have been electrically shocked before, we all have, but never like this. I can’t help but feel slightly betrayed, for a second I thought Bump Nose was different. I know I took the questions too far, but I never thought he would shock me that strongly. People have died from strong, unexpected shocks. Bump Nose continues to speak but no one is listening. They are too busy stealing baffled glances at each other as the smell of burnt hair perforates the room. My burnt hair. I quickly swallow my tears and spend the rest of the class hurriedly writing all my essays with quick, shaky hands. I hate Bump Nose. I hate people who are one way one minute and another way the next.

As the buzzer goes off I hurriedly rise from my chair in an attempt to leave the classroom as quickly as possible. Yet before I can make my escape Bump Nose calls out to the class. “All who asked questions stay behind, including those who raised their hands, but did not speak.” Bump Nose leisurely strolls towards the door which he shuts softy, giving us time to look around at our merry little band of idiots. There are six of us in all. The fear in the room is tangible—small groups shut behind closed doors don’t typically make for a happy ending.

A shallow, breathless eternity passes before Bump Nose begins to speak. “All of you are curious; you wish to further understand the dynamics of the world you live in. Come to this room at your own risk during the Completion of Assigned Work period and your curiosity may be satisfied.” With that he promptly walks back to his desk, leaving us in utter bafflement.

12 and I practically sprint out of the room eager to be outside in the wind where we can finally rehash the events that have transpired. As soon as we reach the tundra she breaks down with a strangled sob putting her hand on my shoulder in an illegal display of affection. It draws a small smile to my face, as she continues. “Seven I thought you were dead.” I respond kindly, ” Don’t worry about me 12.” I gently grab her hand from my shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze, returning it to her side before anyone sees. The pace is slower today as we speak in hushed voices. “I thought Bump Nose was one of the good ones,” she says with bitter remorse, using the name I have given him. “I did too,” I say somberly. “By now we should both know better.” For a while we remain silent, and deeply pensive. Yet it isn’t an awkward silence, it never is with 12. I can practically see the gears turning in her brain, and she could say the same for me.

After about half a mile she asks the inevitable question. “Are you going this afternoon for the ‘satisfaction of your curiosity?“’ Her voice is slightly teasing yet deadly serious. I sigh pursing my lips in deep thought. “It could be a trap either way. He could be testing us and we could be punished for going, or we could be punished for not going.” She presses onward. “So what are you going to do?” For a second I begin to exclaim that I don’t know, but deep down I do know. “I am going to go. The only thing as strong as my fear is my desire to know what he has to say, to actually get some answers. But you don’t have to go because I am going...”

I can tell 12 is thinking hard —she tries to chew her lower lip, but is stopped by the momentum of the run from engaging in her usual habit. Finally she breaks the silence: “If you go I will go, I want answers too.” I grimace at the role I just played in potentially killing both of us. Now if something happens to her I will be to blame, but I know her too well to say anything. It will only strengthen her resolve to go, and I am secretly glad not to be going alone to meet Bump Nose, with his forced electroshock therapy and creepy vocal inflections. The rest of the day flies by smoothly with the exception of a few nervous stares during Acquisition of Sustenance. My angst is subdued by Dagger’s comic shock at seeing that 12 and I both survived Past Events in one piece. Her initial surprise quickly reverts to a prissy pout that perfectly complements her narrow face to make her look like a chimpanzee.

After the earlier events of the day I have no energy for apprehension towards Practical Training. The last week has been fairly normal and I have almost decided to change the slightly cynical names I have given the teachers. As I walk into the room I am met by the unusual appearance of a black metal container in the center of the room. Doomsday and Apocalypse stand on either side of it looking as usual like personified surgical equipment . We line up numerically and Doomsday begins to speak: “Today you shall each take an electronic tablet and a writing utensil, and for the next approximately six hours you will stand with your tablet against the wall and complete arithmetic problems. It is integral that all the problems are completed correctly. Begin.”

They have started testing our willpower and I don’t like how they are doing it. I have always been decent at math, but only as a skill I have honed. Ask me to do math I haven’t prepared for and all bets are off. I reluctantly grab my tablet and a place on the wall next to 12′s worried eyebrows. She has never had the strongest willpower, but she is insanely competitive. Hopefully that will pull her through. I open the tablet to find that the problems are fairly standard, I think I can solve them. I let out a sigh of relief.

Four hours later, and I have attempted all twenty problems. All of them are unsolvable. By now I am nearing hysteria, after my performance this morning if I get all of these problems wrong I am as good as dead. My legs and back are aching and I can’t feel my toes. The problems in front of me have blurred into the page and my eyes seem to cross every time I try to comprehend the scribbles in front of me. For the second time today and the second time in the last three years I can feel tears well up in my eyes, but an angry voice in my head keeps them at bay as I do the problems yet again. The class will end in five minutes and I don’t have a single correct answer to show for my six hours toil and strife. Every time I find a new answer I plug it into an equation to check it and find it is wrong. By now my anxiety is gone, it has been replaced by a hollow lifeless trance of total defeat. I have lost it all. I guess zeros and ones and throw in a pi symbol for kicks.

With all my thoughts entirely mute I walk to Completion of Assigned Work before remembering to turn around and walk to Bump Nose’s room. 12 is already there, we are probably the only two stupid enough to show up. Bump Nose isn’t even in his classroom. She looks awful with wide eyes and face taut with distress. I think to say something comforting but decide it’s too hard. Instead I put my head down on my arms on the table in front of me and try to forget I exist. “Could you solve the problems?” she whispers. I prop my chin up on my hands eyes still closed. “Not a single one out of the twenty.” With that 12 perks up, “I couldn’t either.” My depressed exhaustion gone, I sit bolt upright. 12, who is a genius mathematician in her own right, who corrects the teacher’s mistakes under her breath in calculus, who can compute gargantuan numbers in her head couldn’t solve the problems. Something is wrong with this situation.

Eagerly, I turn to her, “If you can’t solve them, no one can.” She looks at me quizzically before responding. “You think they were unsolvable? What would be the point of that?” My excitement grows as my hope is restored. “Don’t you see, they weren’t testing our intelligence, they have spent the last 18 years doing that. They are testing our willpower! They gave us the unsolvable math problems and six hours to do them, they were probably measuring how long it took us to give up on the tablets! When did you stop?” “Not until the very end,” she responds gleefully. Just then the door opens to reveal three more unfortunate souls. I recognize 20, a female with curly light brown hair and slightly blue-grey eyes who gets through life solely because of luck. I refer to her as Tight Rope. There is also a male, number 28 with brown hair, brown skin and brown eyes. He is smart, but has a tendency to see both sides to everything in a way that teachers hate. I refer to him as Captain Neutrality.

Finally, 14 is a male with light olive skin and chestnut brown hair, he has dark green eyes with touches of brown in the middle and a sharp jawline. I have noticed him before towards the front of the pack when running. He is smart, but unlike the rest of us he usually knows when to keep his mouth shut. I have never given him a name, nor have I ever really looked at him. He notices me staring and meets my curious blue eyes with an intense green stare that seems to penetrate my soul. I quickly turn away feigning disinterest. Just then Bump Nose enters the room. He walks over to his desk and begins to speak. “Any who wish to go leave now.” No one moves. “Excellent” he says with a smug smile of slight insanity as he stares down at our pitiful group of misfits.

“Now,” continues Bump Nose, “You are all here because you are plagued by persistent curiosity, a vice that has been deemed unacceptable.” I can tell this is not going to end well for us. “All of you have questions beyond the knowledge provided by this learning institution, questions about the circumstances of your lives, but you ought not to have these questions. You are told that they are an indication of unintelligence, disobedience, weakness and a plethora of other foul characteristics, but I ask you, are they really?” An uncomfortable silence serves as his only response.

I don’t know if everyone is as confused as I am or if they are simply holding their tongues. I know the answer must be yes. Curiosity is bad. This has been drilled into our heads over and over, but still something stops me from speaking. I know my curiosity is bad. I know it’s stupid. I know it will destroy me. But there is something missing from that equation. There is something that is keeping every student in this room from running for the door in self preservation. It is the one question that only a few unfortunate individuals are cursed with the burning desire to ask: “why?”

“Is there something you would like to say Seven?” No! Did I say that out loud? I can’t believe I did that. All eyes are on me, between Bump Nose’s prying stare, 12′s worried eyes, and an overwhelming desire to kick myself, I am at a loss for words. Do I cover up my comment and hope they forget? Or do I dismiss the likelihood that this whole thing is a trap, throw away my inhibitions and risk it all for the sheer satisfaction of hearing an answer? “Why?” I continue reluctantly, “Why exactly is curiosity such a bad thing? You say that it is an indicator of unintelligence. You say it is an indicator of weakness, but how? The ability to think about the world in a more complex way, to look past what we are told the world is and try to figure it out for ourselves, that shows higher cognitive processing. As far as I can see curiosity indicates intelligence.”

The room is filling up with cocked heads and raised eyebrows, but there is no stopping me now. “Furthermore, having the courage to question the world that is force fed to us—despite consequences such as getting electrocuted by psychotically mercurial teachers—that does not make you weak, that makes you strong.” In an instant I realize just how monumentally stupid I am. I swallow hard and speak one last time. “I thank you graciously and respectfully for your time.” Then I turn on heel and head for the door.

My flee to freedom is cut short at the last minute by Bump Nose’s long fingered hand on the door blocking my escape and pulling me back toward the jaws of death. His hand is moving from the door to my right shoulder. My heart beats faster in anticipation of a blow, or an iron grip throwing me to the ground. I shut my eyes and cringe as to my surprise a gentle but firm grip guides me back to the group of my flabbergasted peers. I am silently grateful to genetic probability that I don’t have a tendency to blush. Bump Nose motions for me to sit down and I obey, a small child being chastised. He begins to speak in a manner that is somehow both condescending and encouraging: “Now, Seven was that so hard?” I don’t respond, my rash confidence is gone all I want to do is go home and sleep. The sooner I can dream myself into a reality where today never happened the better.

He continues, “Seven here has just done something very foolish, yet very brave; she of course is right. I can’t in any way support the claim that curiosity is an entirely unsavory trait. However, had I been born a different breed of man she would have just died for her foolishness.” The room grows colder. “In this society you constantly walk a line between living and existing. In Level Two you are meant only to exist, a time consuming enough task for most. Yet this room is filled with an altogether different species. You children have proven yourselves unable to simply exist.” We sit mesmerized by his every word, overtaken by shock and a beautiful disillusionment.

He goes on, “Curiosity has been the source of all knowledge and innovation throughout human history; it has also proven the source of much misfortune. It is something that I personally find fascinating. I wish to know what makes one individual more prone to curiosity than another. It is out of my personal fascination with curiosity that I give you the option to come here every day during Completion of Assigned Work. During this time I will answer your questions, despite personal risk, if only you allow me to satisfy my curiosity about your curiosity.” Without a moment’s pause he calmly strolls to the door and opens it as an invitation for us to leave. We file out quickly with buzzing heads and thumping hearts, more confused than ever before.

Freedom. I practically sprint down the hallway, I want out of today. I know I should stop and talk to 12. She will want to rehash the events of today in every excruciating detail and ask me to extract all the swirling emotions from my head for her careful dissection. I can’t do that right now. I don’t feel like worrying 12, and I don’t like lying to her.

Sometimes I wish I had someone else to talk to, someone I don’t feel I have to protect from my emotions. 12 and I take care of each other. We always feign honesty, but deep down we still shelter each other as not to add to each other’s burdens.

I look up from my thoughts to find that the ground has suddenly disappeared. I am heading face-first for the steep, concrete staircase. I cringe anticipating the pain, but it never comes. I feel warm arms wrapping around me from behind and picking me up gently before setting me back down. At first I assume 12, but there is no way she could lift me with such ease. I turn around to see 14, looking rather amused. “Are you quite alright?” He asks, green eyes twinkling. “Fine,” I say defensively as my eyes dance from his eyes to his shoes.

There is something unsettling about him, I don’t think he is dangerous, but at the same time he throws me off balance—and I am not easily intimidated. Regaining my composure I respond more politely, “I am fine now, thank you for your assistance.” I smile slightly out of obligation and continue down the stairs with newfound caution. “Watch where you are going,” he calls after me, watching intently as I disappear around the corner.