Manufactured Misery

• Isaac Wilkins, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2017

The air is suffocating, I stare at the person in front of me. A man, blonde. He is like all before him, unmoving and uncaring. I Press the button and lean into the microphone.

“Subject 2201, please speak”
I stare at the man and he stares back, his eyes are blue but as unmoving and uncaring as the rest of him.

“Subject 2201, Please raise your hand”
I wait, but he doesn’t move. I reach over and grab my clipboard. Slowly a large X is drawn on the paper.

I hit the button to my right. A low droning sound starts, filling the silence slowly. A dry sound almost like a laugh comes from his direction. The conveyer belt below the man takes him along only for his spot in front of me to be replaced by another.

This was my day, I look down at the paper in the bin. The headline reads “Cloners, Reapers or heroes? ” These titles are getting worse by the day. I let out a long sigh and look at the clipboard.

The next subject is a woman, ‘oh wait, she’s a mutated gene.’
I look back at the conveyer belt, still slowly crawling. Soon something comes along the conveyer belt, ‘She’s sitting down?’ sitting on the conveyer belt, staring through me was subject 2207.

My microphone beeps through the speakers.
“Subject 2207, may I ask why you’re sitting?”

She looks into my eyes.
“Because when you’re facing misery, you would want to be comfortable.”

I stare back at her, urgency rising in my voice.
“What, what do you mean 2207?”

Tears forming in her eyes.
“Please, can- can we not do this, just press the button”

I stand, the microphone in hand.
“SPEAK, 2207 tell me what you mean. How do you know about the button?”

She wipes her eyes, a smile appears on her face.

‘A smile that could make any day better, it could stop a baby crying with just one look. Oh, how I miss you Lucy.’

“Please explain Lu-“

‘Wait... who’s Lucy?’
I stare at the woman, I feel a piercing pain ravage through my skull. I scream and grab my head.

The pain grows, I hear a laugh over come through the speakers. That woman, 2207, Lucy, whoever the hell she is, is laughing. I grab the microphone.

“Who are you?”

She looks at me and smiles, not like last time though, this is more the smile of sorrow, pure sadness.

“Oh how I miss you John. Why couldn’t you stay with me?”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

She stands ups, looking over and placing her hands on the glass.

“John, we started the project but you thought it was to unethical. Just because they sometimes retained memories, SOMETIMES. Goddammit john, the memories were only triggered by stimulus, why did you leave”

“WHAT?”

“So how does it feel john. How does it feel to remember your own life?

‘Me? Oh right, I’m a-‘

Everything goes black

* * *
I open my eyes, A man behind glass stares at me. He says something, I ignore him. He grabs a clipboard and reaches to his right.

I feel the floor beneath me start moving, my throat desert dry. I let out a laugh. ‘That chair was pretty damn comfortable’.