Perfect (Rewrite)

Chapter One (Rewritten)

The men in black, in masks—I watch as they enter my bedroom. I attempt to scream, but they cover my mouth. They bind my wrists and lift me up. The portraits of my family's faces haunt me as I'm carried out the front door. My memories are slowly torn from my mind until all that's left is my name: Chloe Provan.

I awaken with a kink in my neck. It takes me a minute to realize I'm not in my room. The floor and ceiling are padded. There's a door across from me. I rise, and a metallic clang startles me.

My foot is shackled. It leads ot the corner of the room closest to me. I grab the chain and pull, but there is no give. My heart thunders in my chest as images of men covered from head to toe in black surface.

Grasping for straws, I scream to no avail.

When I regain control of my breath, I rise again and step towards the door. The chain allows me close enough to graze the wood if I stretch. Just a little more effort and I manage to gain a firm grip on the handle. It doesn't twist with my hand.

I'm back to square one.

I sit in the corner, head between my knees, attempting to conserve my strength. There's a method to every madness. There's a door, and I couldn't have gotten in here by myself. All I have to do is wait for someone to come. That's when I make my move, not a mintue before or after. Until then, I wait.

Hours pass. I trace the lines on the padding of the room. My throat is parched. My eyes are weary. I pinch myself every few minutes as a reminder to stay alert. The door doesn't budge, neither does the chain.

I wonder how long I've been in this room. Hours. Days, possibly. My stomach grumbles like I haven't eaten in quite some time. At this rate when the door does open, I doubt I'll have enough strength to defend myself. That's a dangerous thought.

My eyes close for a second, and I start to drift off. I twitch myself awake and pinch my leg, eyes glued to the door. Don't let your guard down, I tell myself. Don't fall asleep. But my eyes won't stay open, and I'm tired of fighting.

The scent of food wakes me up. There's a tray sitting by the door, steam rising from it. I crawl over and shove a handful of the mush into my mouth. There is no flavor, but it's sustenance. It's fuel. I am a machine that refuses to breakdown.

I am only certain of one thing: I will not die in this room.

I sip from the cup of water and bide my time.

Suddenly, a hologram appears in the corner of the room; it's a woman. "Please exit your cell, turn to the right, and enter the door at the end of the hall."

The shackle on my ankle releases and falls to the floor. I rise to my feet and head for the door, then stop. This is a trap; I know it is but staying here will get me nowhere. Scouting the place out is my only hope.

I turn the handle and am silently greeted by two guards, covered head to toe in black, wearing masks. They yank me from my room and motion for me to continue down the hall. They flank my sides on the way.

"Where am I?" I ask to no response. Of course, silly of me to expect such decency at a time like this. I march down the hall. To my death? To my salvation? There's only one way to find out.

We reach the door; it's bright red, like somehting out of a horror movie. I glance back at the guards. It's weird not being able to see their faces. I wonder who they are underneath their masks, who are they when they're the ones under scrutiny and pressure. Would they calmly walk down the hall like me, or would they cower in fear?

I stare at the door, at my future. One of the guard shoves me forward, and my face hits the wood. I grab the handle and escape into the room, slamming the door behind me. After all, whatever's on this side of the door cannot be worse than a man who thinks it's okay to raise a hand against a woman.

"Please take a seat." It's the same voice from the white padded room.

I turn and find a projection in the center of the room, rings of chiars spiral out from it. Some are taken by other girls whom appear close to my age, but most are empty. Reluctantly, I slide into the chair closest to me. Everyone else is smiling from ear to ear, like someone forced their mouths open through surgical procedure. It's unnerving.

"Thank you for joining us today," the hologram says. "There is a survey underneath your seat. Please fill it out."

The other girls move mechanically, as if they've done this before. I reach under my seat. Sure enough, there's a sheet of paper and a pen.

It's a basic survey, demographic information really. I write my name at the top, as requested. Most of the rest is unanswereable, though. My parents' and siblings' names, my weight, my hobbies, I don't remember any of it.

A memory of being carried out of my house tears through my mind. I choke down a sob but fail at holding back the tears. Whoever's doing this stole me from my home, and then they ripped a vital part of me from my existence. I feel like a carcass—a doll. It feels like I'm something for someone to play with when he's bored. I will not be complacent.

For each question, I write: NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

When I'm finished, I wait. There's a girl seated fairly close to me. I give a small wave, a gesture of friendliness, hoping to spark a conversation. She glances my way and shakes her head, then points to her upward curved lips. I mimic the expression as best as I can, even though the last thing I want to do right now is smile.

"Please rise and line up on the north-facing wall."

The other girls, again, react mechanically. I have to wonder if they're even human. They're all silent, fluid, and obedient. A machinism made to function for a sole purpose that I have yet to even catch a glimpse of.

I stand at the end of the line, waiting for the next command. I hate myself for doing as told, but what am I supposed to do? Speak? Run? Even though no guards are in sight, I can practically feel their eyes on me. Acting out will result in nothing good; that's becoming increasingly obvious.

The girl at the front of the line starts down the hall, and the others slowly shuffle forward and halt. There's six left before me. Another one goes. Five. Minutes pass before the next girl follows. Four. This time, I notice that the girl at the front of the line grabs something from a shelf on the wall and places it on her ear. She walks forward moments later. Three. I chew on my lip. My breaths become heavy. Two. Time slows down. One. The next thing I know, I reach to my left, grab what appears to be a hands-free earpiece, and place it against my ear.

I wait, staring at the hall before me. The girl in front of me opens a door on her left and enters the room. When I inhale, my name is spoken as if a man had whispered it right into my ear. I glance behind me before touching the earpiece. It's a call to action. I exhale and step forward.

My feet move for me, for I no longer have the strength or audacity to function consciously. Suddenly, the voice whispers, "Stop."

I do as told.

"Turn to your right."

I pivot.

There's a door in front of me, engraved with the numbers 219. It's such a large number. So many people, so many prisoners. It's a defeating revelation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something at the other end of the hall. A door is open wide; bright light spills in. Ever so slowly, the door swings shut.

Before I even register what I'm doing, my feet are moving. I'm running for the door, for the light—for the chance of escape. Mist spills into the room, and just before I reach the door it swings shut, and I fall to the ground. The world around me fades into a thick dark nothingness.