I wake up. It’s over. It’s over. I won. I won! I try to look around, but my face is immobile. I wake up on the same bed that I was laying in at the beginning. The thousands of wires are still intertwined all over my body, the only color I see is blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. I close my eyes, but immediately open them. All I see are horrible images of past events. I try to close my eyes again. I see fire, guns. My feet are trying to move, but my controller doesn’t want me to. I’m running in place. I’m in the middle of a world surrounded by dust, it’s clouding my vision. I open my eyes. I feel my soul being lifted from my body. It seems as if I’m looking at my once alive, once bright, once cheerful self which is now wilted and dull. I close my eyes. I see someone running towards me. I can’t tell who it is, only that they are running fast, but my legs still won’t move. Without any self control, I reach for my back pocket and I feel a gun. I didn’t know I had it. One shot, two shots, three shots. The shadow I had seen was now only a shadow of red. I open my eyes. Something is pulling the wires around me.

    In a split second, my face is free, I can move, I can think, I can see other colors. I sit up straight on the bed and run for the door. I need to get out. I need to get out.

    “Go back to bed, you’re not fully rested, Charlie. This has been an intense month, please rest,” says the nurse.

    “No! Please! Let me go home. Let me see my family. I can’t take this anymore!” the nurse grabs me by the arm, trying to get me to sit back down, but I keep screaming out, “Let go of me! You don’t understand! Let me go!” I eventually give up the fight. I’m not strong enough.

    The nurse walks me back to my bed and gives me a blue liquid. She pours it down my throat and shuts my eyes. Everyday, the same routine. 5 weeks have gone by and they release me. I don’t know why they do. Maybe they think I’m better. Maybe they think I’m not better, that I won’t get better. But I’m out. My father is here to bring me home. It’s strange to say that. Home is now a place I have never seen before.

    “Honey! You’re home!” “We’ve missed you so much!” “I thought of you everyday!” “I saved you a cookie!” These are the types of things I hear as I step into the door of my family’s new home - the one I won for them. It’s all white. The walls are real walls, very much unlike the plaster walls I had in my old home. The couches are comfortable. The kitchen fits more than two people in it. We have a dining room. Each of us has a room and a bathroom. My parents look happy. I won this for them, they deserve to be happy and hopefully, my win and all the benefits that came with it are sufficient for them to finally have the home and life they deserve.

    Days pass and the kindness remains, and my family looks incredibly happy. I’m happy. Everything is perfect. Everything is perfect, but only during the day. At night, the visions, the sounds, the voices, the nightmares; they continue. I hate it. I haven’t spoken about it either. If my parents ever knew, they’d feel so guilty and I can’t do that to them; I never could. But they know, there is no way they don’t. I may not speak it, but the soft screams and groans of pain at night, the wet pillows every morning, they say it all.

    That night, I sit in my room which is white and blue, emerged in fluffy pillows and blankets, and big posters. I observe everything around me. For some reason, I picked blue for my room. I hate the color blue. I have been attracted to it ever since I left ad-one. I don’t know why, but it is very strange. I begin to pay attention to all my new possessions: my TV, my phone, my computer, everything. This isn’t me… no, this wasn’t me… This is me now.  I turn off the lights and try to go to sleep, hoping this night will be better than the previous one.

    I stay up all night. All night waiting for the hours to pass by.  While I lay in bed, my eyes sink into the darkness, and my thoughts spin in uncontrollable circles. I just want to sleep, be able to close my eyes without horrible images filling up the dark space. All I want to think about is my life before that Sunday afternoon, before I crushed the chips on the floor, before I turned the channel to the news, before I heard my dad sigh, before I signed up for ad-one. I want to go back to my old room, I want to go back to my small kitchen, I want to go back to the nights where we ate dinner in the living room, on the couch. I feel like I’m in a box that is closing in on me and no matter how hard I try to stop it, it just keeps getting smaller. As the hours pass by, strangely enough, I grow wider awake. Outside the window of my room, I hear beautiful melodies sang by birds I never knew existed. The old neighborhood never had these kinds of sounds.

Not long after, I drag myself to the bathroom and prepare for the day that is to come. I stare into the mirror, looking at every scar, every tear, every imperfection visible on my face. It won’t get any easier, at least not anytime soon. But you have to keep your head held high, Charlie. You are stronger than this. Don’t let Mom and Dad see you like this, they don’t deserve to see you like this. Get yourself together, Charlie. It’s just another day.

My parents are waiting in the kitchen. They are sitting with their backs very straight, different from their usual slouched posture and are facing the window that is across the white round dinner table. Both of them are holding a cup of coffee. Strange. They never used to drink coffee. I look at them, focusing on every little detail. My dad is wearing a gold watch and chain, it seems. He always used to make fun of people that owned watches. He said that time was relative, so owning a watch was useless. And that chain, I’ve never seen him wear chains at all, much less gold chains. My mom’s hair is different too. She used to have big curly hair, full of life, but now she straightened it. It’s as flat as door. Why would she do that? I turn to them and ask, “Hey guys. Are these clothes new? I’ve never seen you wear all white before. And that chain, Dad? It’s uh… different,” I let out a nervous laugh.

“Oh darling, it’s what all our rich neighbors are wearing these days. I thought we ought to merge with the crowd, now that we have got money of our own to spend. I got you a pair of new clothes, too. Go on, try the skirt! Dad bought you a watch. All the kids at your new school are going to be impressed,” says my mom. She’s strange, her voice has this weird soothe to it. It seems like those voices you hear in movies right after someone has been brainwashed. She’s usually so loud and boisterous and happy. Her voice is just like her hair now; flat, and even boring.

“No, Mom, I don’t want to wear that, thank you. I would rather wear my regular clothes, maybe you should try that too. Also, I want to paint my room. I can’t stand the blue anymore.”

“No, honey, you’re going to change into those clothes whether you like them or not. Now, George, what would people think if they saw our daughter walking out in an old rag like the one she has on?”

“Mom, you bought me this shirt. We got it at the market back home, don’t you remember? And who is George? Is dad George? Mom, you’re not making any sense. Please explain this to me. Dad’s name isn’t George, it’s Greg.  And did you hear me when I said I wanted to paint the room?”
            “Oh, Charlie, this is our home now. It does us no good to think about the past. And, well, I changed my name. I chose George because Greg just didn’t seem an appropriate name for people of our social class. Darling, we have money now, you must understand that. We are no longer part of the Minor community, so clearly things change. Regarding your room, we can talk about it later. Now, go on, do as your mother says, change into the white skirt and put on that nice watch I got for you,” says my dad, who is talking in the same strange manner that my mom is. He can’t stop looking at his watch either. It’s like he’s waiting to see every minute ticking by. Usually he would be working around the house or doing something. I would never have thought  he would spend all this time looking at a watch.

I grab my new outfit from the counter and storm off the kitchen. I slam the door behind me. I wait. I wait for my parents to say what they usually say, “Hey the door did you no harm, Charlie!” but I give up because not a sound comes from that kitchen. God, the fact that they don’t think I know we have money now! That does not mean we have to give up all our old ways. They think I don’t know, that I’m not aware. Well I’m very well aware that this is our reality now and I must say that I don’t like what it’s doing to my people, my family. I’m scared, I’m honestly scared. Those were not my parents, I don’t know who they were, but they were not Leslie and Greg. Or George.  I guess it’s George now.

    I put my new clothes in the trash can. I’m not wearing that. I leave through my window so that I can escape my parents and their reprimanding talks. As I walk through my new neighborhood, I can’t help but think of all the things I sacrificed to give this to my parents. My safety, my free will, my mind. Everywhere I turn there is something watching me, reminding me of my guilt or my fears. I can’t stand it anymore, and worst of all, I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to stop the visions or how to stop my mind from spiraling or how to stop my parents from being so attached to their new materials that they can’t even see that this whole situation is driving me mad. This is not my home. This is not the place I left, the family I left and fought for. I don’t feel any safer. I don’t know anyone. And I’m left all alone with my thoughts all day, all the time. I just wish I could take it all back, take it all away.

    As night falls, I make my way back to the house. Not home. Just the house. I tried to think of a way to reverse this. All of it. I want to go back home, I want to get rid of the watches, the clothes, the riches. I want my parents to let go of all of this, but there is no way they will, not unless it all goes away, not unless it all goes away for real. Right before I arrive to the house I stop at the gas station and buy a container of gasoline. I’m not thinking clearly, I can’t be. I’m not sure I’m even thinking at all. But I need to do something. It all needs to go away. The only way I see it going away is if it all goes up in flames. I climb back in through the window, scraping my knee as I attempt to do so. When I finally step on the ground of my bedroom, I find both my parents staring at me, dead silent. They stay there, without saying a word and even when I move they keep staring in the direction of the window. It’s like they don’t notice me, nor the gasoline. Their sight is fixed on the window. They don’t blink, their face is blank, free of any expression, they don’t speak, they don’t move.  What is going on? I run to the bathroom and lock the door. What is happening! Are these only my thoughts? I don’t even know if this is real! I have to get out of here. I splash water on my face, and peak through the whole on the lock. They’re not there. It wasn’t real. It was not real. My breathing slows down. I turn the handle to open the door and there they are again. Am I going crazy? They move tensely towards the door; their footsteps barely make any noise. They don’t close the door, they just keep walking without turning back. I can’t take this! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault that they are like this and that I am like this! It has to go, everything has to go! I run to the kitchen and open every white, light drawer. I scramble through every single thing in that kitchen. I stop moving when I find a matchbox. My hands shake, the match box makes the slightest of noises. It’s full.

    I pull a match out and hold it up, observing it. It’s incredible how something so small has such power. I have to do this. There is no other way. I have to let it go. I have to let it all go. I have to let it all go now.

    “Mom, Dad? If you’re here just answer me, please?” no answer.  I take a step forward, towards the stairs. I stop myself from going up there. I know what I need to do. I continue, “I hope you went out. I love you, both of you. So much. Goodbye. I assume I’ll see you soon.” My mind spirals like never before. I saw them leave the room, but not the house. But I don’t even know if they’re real. I have to do it. I look around the spotless kitchen, all neat and tidy. I take the shot, or I miss the chance. It’s now or never.

    I step outside the front door; the bottle of gasoline drops its last droplets on the front porch. I am drained in that smell. The whole house is drained in that smell. I poured it all over the halls, the kitchen, the living room, and now the front porch. I stare at the big red door with a golden “28” right in the middle. I won’t miss that door. As a matter of fact, I won’t miss anything in that house. Maybe with it gone, Mom, Dad, and I will be able to go home and live the life that is meant for us. Maybe we’ll get to make that choice. I take a step backwards and I brush the match against side of the box quickly. Sparks fly and in a split second the tip of the match is emerged in bright orange flames rather than the ugly red. My eyes water, blurring my vision. I don’t feel bad. Why don’t I feel bad? Still looking deeply at the bright red door, I through the match at it. The wooden porch ignites right where the gasoline was last spilled. I take a step back to watch the house slowly go up in flames. Every room, every belonging, every tiny, light drawer in the kitchen, every blue wall. A tear rolls down my pale face, but I wipe it away. And then I turn away. And I run.

    Not long after, I hear sirens wailing from police cars, firefighter trucks. I hear all the sounds that define chaos. Above all that noise is the sound of my pounding heart, beating faster and faster with every step. I’m running to hide. I have to hide, at least until I figure out how to get back home. I want to figure out where my parents are and then go home with them, but I need to wait until the chaos is gone… and until my heart stops jumping out of my chest. I finally manage to sit and rest. I have never been to this part of town. It’s equally as nice, but twice as deserted. If you didn’t hear a sound in the old neighborhood, you don’t even see anyone in this one. I collect my thoughts behind a bush, but am interrupted by a TV billboard that catches my eye. It has big flashing colors and a huge picture is on the screen. A voice comes out of the speaker next to the billboard, screaming, “ATTENTION ALL! THERE IS NOW A SEARCH GOING ON! WE WARN YOU THIS YOUNG WOMAN IS DANGEROUS! CHARLIE BENSON IS BEING CHARGED WITH ARSON AND MURDER, FOR KILLING HER OWN PARENTS IN A FIRE SHE SET HERSELF. THE POLICE IS SEARCHING FOR CHARLIE BENSON, CHARLIE BENSON. IF ANYONE HAS ANY INFORMATION OF THE CRIMINAL’S WHEREABOUTS PLEASE CONTACT 444-5797-1083.