Locked Up

February 12, 2009
By John Ackerman SILVER, Fort Wayne, Indiana
John Ackerman SILVER, Fort Wayne, Indiana
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I quietly took my place in the seemingly endless line of people dressed in vibrant white. They ran together like clouds, without the contrast of the blue sky. It was the first meal of the day, one of the two we had daily. A number of years ago I looked forward to breakfast, as there was always an opportunity to try something different. Not here. Every single meal was the same bland food. It was a soupy mixture that was said to contain every vitamin and mineral that is essential for optimal health, and eating it everyday would prevent any type of dystrophy. You could always spot a newcomer right away, because the first time they tried the soup, they were busy puking their guts out while everyone else ate silently. I was guilty of this, too. The first time I placed the cold, mushy liquid in my mouth, I gagged before my brain even allowed me to taste it. Immediately after I noticed an incredible similarity between the vomit and the food I had just consumed, not just in taste, but in smell and texture as well. That night I had a severe case of dysentery. Since then I have developed a sort of tolerance for it. That doesn't mean its enjoyable for me, or even edible for that matter, but my tongue just ignores it. After the meal everyone headed towards their individual 'training rooms.'

A training room is just a word the keepers use to sugar coat what actually happens. Inside, you are strapped into a chair where an oversized claw latches on to your face and holds your eyelids open. Titanium rods shove speakers right up against your eardrums that plays a hypnotizing tune mixed with dialogue and commands. A video is projected on the wall where thousands of images are cycled every minute, forcing their way into your skull. It used to be terrifying to be in the training room, but now the only thing that bothers me are the radiant lights that tear into my pupils. I fear I have developed some type of photophobia. There is one thing, however, that I can take comfort in. I am the only individual that I know of that managed to avoid getting the chip embedded in my cranium. Everyone acts as though possessed, but I maintain my personality and human qualities that make us unique. When I was first put here, I had been told that once I was through with my training I would be released, but I had my doubts. The keepers were liars, although I suspected they were programmed to lie. Their main focus was eugenics and euthenics, or so they said, but I knew that they were just brainwashing society to form their perfect society.
Their ideals made me sick.

My cycle had just been completed, and I stepped out of the chair, making my way towards my room for resting period. I noticed a gaping hole in the wall of the sinuous hallway that hadn't been there before. With little time to think the decision through, I dove to the ground, sliding through the hole into the abyss. I crawled and crawled until I reached a room that was completely barren, aside from the vivid white lights, just like everywhere else in the facility. A lone door stood at the other end of the room. I ran towards it, confident that I had escaped the dystopia. The door ran away from me, but I knew that I would catch it. The doors in the facility were quick, you see. I was in an all out sprint, and so was the door. With all my strength, I dove straight towards the door, but it wasn't enough. Surprised that I hadn't landed on the cold ground, I looked down, realizing I had dove into another hole. A massive, fifty foot man stood before me. He plucked me from the ground with his tweezers, and dropped me into another room. I was in my resting area! 'No, it can't be. Please, no!' I shouted, but it was no use. I feared that I would soon lose my sanity, but I was still glad I was better off than everyone else in the facility that had already lost their souls. Two keepers approached my resting area. 'Keep it down, will ya? You don't wanna have to switch asylums again do you?' The other keeper mumbled something as they walked away. 'This is the third asylum this guy has been to. He really needs a soundproof room.' I was unsure of what the keepers spoke of, but I knew they were somehow plotting against me. I sat in my corner, pondering my next escape plan as I scratched at the yellow padding beneath me.

The author's comments:
Written for an etymology assignment

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Jul. 21 2009 at 9:00 pm
Hope_Princess BRONZE, Hebron, New Hampshire
4 articles 4 photos 377 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible."

Hmm...it was pretty cool. You're good at coming up with different stories, but that's a good thing. I liked it.

Keep writing!


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!