elimination
Chapter Four

The cold unforgiving eyes of Doomsday bore into my skull as I hang suspended above the ground from a cold metal pole. About an hour ago we walked into class to replace a series of perfectly spaced metal poles installed in the Practical Training classroom horizontally from one wall to another. Ever since then we have been literally hanging on for dear life with white knuckles in pained silence. My arms feel like limp, chewed up tongues. The first person to drop is going to be the one who is disassembled. I am not concerned for myself, but I can’t help but worry about 12. I drift in and out of direct consciousness, dreaming myself into alternate realities and returning only when forced to by especially strong bursts of pain shooting out from the nerves in my arms.

About another hour has passed when I am awoken from my repose by a thud, anxiously I look up to see that 12 is still suspended. It was Two, a sweaty-palmed pawn. Her face is white, her eyes that of a hunted animal as she is escorted from the room by Apocalypse, silently screaming.

Four other people dropped within the next half hour and eventually almost everyone else figured they were safe and let go. Now only those driven by blind and foolish competitiveness remain, my arms have gone numb and both my bladder and and the rational part of my brain are severely unhappy. There is only one more hour to go till the end of the class and there are six of us left, Switch, Tight Rope, Dagger, Three, 14, One and myself. I can’t let him win again. He hangs on the same pole as I do, seven places to the right, looking calm and composed as if he has spent his entire life hanging from a pole. He notices me scowling at his ease and smirks demonically. I look away in disgust.

I have been shaking for quite a while now, as have three, Dagger and Tight Rope. Dagger is wearing a facial expression that I would usually have found comical if I wasn’t in so much pain. Her over exaggerated pout resembles a baboon’s butt, and her inhumanly thin eyebrows have decided to convene right in the center of her forehead, like two anorexic caterpillars sharing a secret. About ten minutes later and Dagger drops with a satisfying thump and a bratty scowl, she is quickly followed by Three and One. 20 minutes later and I am seriously losing it, Captain Neutrality has dropped, followed five minutes later by Switch who slipped in a desperate, noble, effort to itch his nose.

There are 15 minutes remaining and 14 and I are the only ones left, the rest of the class watches in wide eyed admiration as my arms scream. My face is no longer neutral, but slightly scrunched. 14 no longer looks as though hanging from a pole for six hours in a freezing cold classroom is what he does for amusement on a daily basis. His composure is still there, but his eyebrows are knitted and his is jaw clenched in a desperate attempt to suppress all feeling. It’s satisfying to know that even 14, the stone-faced enigma, will show pain after a while. The buzzer finally goes off, yet we still hang on, whoever drops first looses our nonexistent game.

We lock eyes, I silently bombard him with anger and frustration compelling him to drop first, but it bounces off like a force field. The teachers are walking toward us looking unamused, I can tell from their eyes that we are going to have to drop before they get to us, or face consequences. I search 14′s eyes desperately, daring him to drop, but he meets my gaze with sardonic green intensity.

Doomsday is a foot away, I see a twinge of uncertainty in 14′s eyes, he quickly ices it over before casually dropping down with catlike grace. In an instant of bliss I finally drop to the ground like a ton of bricks landing flat on my butt, it’s a clumsy, awkward display of triumph. 14 gives me a look of amused disapproval, as I scramble up from the ground and dash for the door before I can be chastised. I run right into 14 in the doorway; he does not flinch and I barely mumble an apology, not caring about anything in my sprint to the excrement processing room.

As I sit in Bump Nose’s classroom, my arms can barely lift to type my essay. 12, who is sitting next to me looks on the verge of sleep already. After having slogged through all of my essays, I lethargically check the daily agenda on my wrist port, there is only one thing left, today’s question: Why are colors so bad? A slave to the feeling of satisfaction I get upon completing my to do list, I raise my right hand signaling Bump Nose’s attention.

Within seconds the energy in the room goes from a negative two to a hundred as I am fixed by five pairs of eager eyes awaiting my question. In a clear, detached voice I read the words on my wrist: “Why are colors so bad?” Before the words even leave my mouth I realize how painfully stupid they sound, but I don’t dare recoil from my own inquiry. Bump Nose looks surprised but pleased as he gets up from his desk and begins to pace in the front of the room.

“Now Seven,” he responds after a moment’s hesitation, “What is a color?” Taken aback, I respond, “Color is a quality of an object or substance due to light reflected by the object, it is usually determined visually by measurement of hue, wavelength, saturation, and brightness of the reflected light,” I deliver my answer with mechanical confidence, quoting my science textbook verbatim. “Good,” says Bump Nose, continuing instantly, “Now you answer me: “Why are colors bad?” Feeling patronized, I answer slowly and thoughtfully with a slight edge to my voice, “There is an obvious benefit, colors help us to better view and understand our environment, but I am talking about the colors that we are not meant to see, like the bright ones.” For a second my train of thought goes off a cliff before another question pops into my head, “Why do certain colors result in the release of dopamine?”

Confusion seems to grab at Bump Nose’s features as he escapes deep into his own thoughts. I look around the classroom, everyone (except 14 of course whose composure is obnoxiously constant) appears somewhat disconcerted, as awkwardness begins to establish its presence. With rightful reluctancy I raise my hand to pull Bump Nose back into the real world, I repeat, “Why do certain colors result in the release of dopamine?” Bump Nose’s eyes stare off into a different universe as he begins to speak in a far off voice, “Association, Seven, it is all a matter of association, connotation.” Before I can say or think anything, Bump Nose snaps back into reality informing us that we are dismissed. We are ushered out the door before I can even dare think or speak a single word. Just when you think all the ambiguity in Level Two has been used up you get force fed another steaming mouthful.

As we walk down the hall in a tight clump it is Captain Neutrality who breaks the silence. The trepidation in his voice is palpable, “Did anyone get any of that?” Tight Rope and 12 respond “nope” simultaneously as I begin to ponder to myself. After a long pause a thought occurs to me. “I think we associate different colors with different things that make us happy. A great deal of bright colors, for example are associated with warmth—think fire. We are always cold so the notion of warmth makes us happy.” For a moment I pause, attempting to gauge how many of my thoughts are safe to share. “Also, people associate happiness with a sense of freedom. Bright colors are only ever seen on occasions when uncontrollable natural phenomena occur, like sunsets and so on. If we associate bright colors with events, not pre-regulated by the government, then we will associate them with freedom, and therefore happiness.”

I can tell that I have lost both Tight Rope and Captain Neutrality. To be honest I kind of lost my own train of thought. 12 is in her own little world pondering my theory, while I get a rare look of admiration from 14. I stare transfixed at his expression out the corner of my right eye, remembering only just in time not to tumble down the concrete stairs.