Ground rolling on mysterious roads approaching unknown territory. The destination uncertain. Our minds blanked masked with blackened emotions. Straight faces facing forward; not a glance at the boy to our right. Lights dimmed with periods of flashes and pitch, black darkness. Helplessly the naked bulb rocked across the ceiling. Sometimes, when the bumps were bigger, it would smash against the ceiling. The glass had yet to shatter but it never failed to make me flinch. Better to be prepared for the downfall of glass shards then have myself blinded.
A heavy Jolt.
The cuffs tugged up. Pain shot through my wrist down to my shoulder. I wanted to rub them but I had already done that about a zillion times and found it to be unhelpful. Similar to when you get a bug bite and it itches like freaking crazy. You tell yourself not to touch it because once you start your hooked. But of course you give in a few times. Each scratch is heavenly pleasure, but now you have to keep going. Your resistance fades. You can’t hold back any longer. The damaged skin calls out for you, screaming for those feelings of bliss. If you give in it won’t go away, but the itching is unbearable. Yeah it’s exactly like that but rubbing doesn’t really give you real bliss. It’s more of a mental pleasure feeling. Not that satisfying really.
Another jolt.
The chain tugging, wrist screaming, shoes sliding against bumpy metal. Bodies colliding into each other. The normal routine.
I guess most of the boys had used up all the “sorry” and “excuse me” curtsies by now. When we weigh down on the person next to us we don’t acknowledge the shove and push. It’ll just happen again anyway. I had as well stopped saying these words. Why? I don’t know. Honestly, I really don’t. They don’t allow us long lasting memories anymore. I don’t even know if we were allowed them in the beginning.
“Keeps you fresh.”
“Doesn’t allow you to get too smart.”
“Yeah, no scheming or nothing.”
That’s what they said, I think. Maybe they didn’t say that. Maybe the boy next to me had said it. Or maybe I did. I just noticed I use the word “maybe” a lot.
“Maybe I…”
“Maybe he…”
“Maybe they…”
“Maybe we…”
“We…”
“We might…”
Might, I once said. We might…what? What might we do? Was it important? I guess not if I forgot, but that’s not really sound logic is it. Maybe it’ll come to me. Maybe.
Jolt. Lights flickered. Bulb swung. Darkness. Loud clang of glass against metal. My eyes clamped shut. Emptiness…light. Nothing; bulb still intact.
Suddenly long, struggling breaths began to break the pattern of normal sounds. Gasping inhales and choked breathes coming from the front of one of the rows. Possibly the second but I can’t really see that well from the back. Someone’s cuffs screeched across the two inch bar. Scraping, scraping, and scraping. Gasping, gasping, scraping. Eyes turned and heads tilted slightly towards the ruckus. I could see thrashing. He was thrashing and choking. White foam poured from his lips landing in small piles around his feet which no longer kept him standing. The cuffs held him suspended as he jerked back and forth. A strange dance almost. Fingers twitching awkwardly. Eyes rolling around his skull. Blood trickling from his ears, dampening his hair.
Continuing to watch we studied each shock in his body. Each wiggle and flail of limbs. It’s not that none of us didn’t want to help. And it’s not that we knew that we couldn’t, which we really couldn’t, it was that at this point something so foul could not shake us. I know this isn’t the first time we’ve seen this. It’s happened before, many times before. Maybe once we were worried. Maybe we cried and did everything but kill ourselves to save each other. Maybe we did. Just maybe.
Gasp, scrape, gasp, scrape, gasp, scrape…
Honestly it began to tire on my eyes after a while. He should just give it up and end it already. It was really the best option. He was probably going to be sent somewhere better then were ever this truck is taking us anyway. I can’t remember if they told us or not if there was an afterlife, or even if it was a good one. I guess I believe. I mean it’s not like it hurts to believe.
Scrape…gasp, gasp….gasp….gasp……..gasp…..silence
I waited. Listened closely, found nothing. Again, peering around people, I saw him. His body dangled lifeless from the ceiling similar to the bulb, but he couldn’t shatter like it could. He had already. Blood still seeped out from his ears and drowned the shoulders of his t-shirt. Small drops echoed as they plopped against the floor mixing with the foam. His shoes began to drag across the puddles making streaks across the bumps. With only his toes on the ground the rest of his body swung softly, turning like a hanged convict. He was surely dead. The other boys turned away and went back to intently staring at the door in front of them. I looked up at the bulb again. I wonder what they think about sometimes, the other boys, do they think like me? Or am I just different? I think I asked them once but I don’t remember if they answered.
A jolt came again, but this time more violent than the others.
Everyone flew forwards and then back. The boy’s body crashed into the ceiling amplifying the sound of bones being crushed and then back repeating the gruesome noise. More blood dripped off his body doubling the already made pools. His head sagged at an awkward angle hiding his probably maimed face. It’s not as if I really wanted to see it anyway. Watching him, did however, make me forget my own suffering.
The truck had stopped moving. The jolt this time had been it halting not so slowly. Once we realized, heads instinctively were held higher, backs straightened, and shoulders pushed back. We stood proud, orderly like soldiers. We were not soldiers. That I knew. The door thumped from the other side. A familiar sound of keys jingling more then they needed to be. A creak of rusty metal, a foot, a face, a smile. It was time.
Oh yeah that’s what we are. What I am. That’s why we were here, where we were are. The cuffs, the boy, the foam, the blood, the emptiness. My thoughts. Afterlife. Pain. I remember these things. I do every time because that’s what we were meant to remember. We might…but we won’t. That’s what they said. We won’t. But I want to. I want to remember. I want to know before the door opens. Maybe one day I will.
Maybe.