Insomnolence

I’ve always had a long standing belief that everyone is brought into this world as a hopeful child, a mind brimming with wonder, and full of curiosity. Everyone dreams of doing incredible things or at least living a life that's worthwhile, making their time spent on Earth meaningful. Unfortunately not all are lucky and sometimes something comes along once in a great while that rattles those ambitions, and decimates them; inadvertently affecting a decent portion of people, without any fault of their own.

I blinked, bringing myself out of thought, pressed my lips against the ceramic cup in my hands, inhaled the sweet Jasmine aroma, and took a small sip from the steamy tea within. Drops of dew raced down the outer panels of the large windows of my room, as the sky above grew lighter. On the horizon, a gradient of warm red and lavender hues painted the distance with the rising of the early morning sun. 

I put down the cup on a warming pad, and resumed looking through an old nature brochure. I was amazed by the colorful, and detailed photographs of the giant redwood trees that had once existed to the north. I imagined myself being amid the group of tourists in the lower portion of the photograph gazing up at the tall canopies above, listening to the guide tell the wonderful history and science of one of nature’s incredible wonders. I flipped the page, the glossy pages still held up some four or five decades later. I sighed, even my with my deepest wishes there was no way I would ever visit them. Not only was I stuck here, but those trees had died ages ago, with the closest experience anyone could hope to find to was in nature preserves. Synthetics, inside a large climate controlled building. The real trees had all burned away with the harrowing fires of the past. Why had humanity been so careless?

Synthetics, the word crossed my mind again. Almost everything was synthetic now. I looked at my hand, made a fist, and extended my fingers, gazed at the dry, cracked skin, and placed it on the table. Maybe people were synthetic now too. I yawned and took another sip of tea. The sun's light shone brighter as beams of sunlight squeezed through the narrow crevices of the skyscrapers, and found their way into my room, illuminating the teal colored walls, floor, and ceiling in a funny tone of off colored purple.

Syn-the-tics, I mouthed the word in fragments. The sodium-vapor lights atop the building across from mine shut off, the state flag rose, and began to sway with a gentle breeze. From my chair I could see far below to the street, dozens of people made their way to work, to school, or errands going about in all directions. I leaned forward and pressed the tips of my fingers against the glass. Even the most mundane task seemed exciting, and even if I could join them I knew I would never be a part of them. A part of normal society. I slammed a fist onto the desk, causing droplets of tea to splash out of the cup and land on the aged brochure. I wiped them off as best as I could and only smeared the old ink across the page.

“Dammit!” I muttered. I had taken very good care of it until now. My frustrations sometimes got the best of me. I shoved the brochure into a drawer and slammed it shut. I could feel the tears coming as a lump formed in my throat along with a tightness in my chest. My eyes began to water and I held back my emotions as best I could. Am I the only one who doesn’t think this is right? I wiped my eyes with my gown, drew in a deep breath and attempted to calm down.

As much I longed to be a part of society, it was them who had placed us here, shuttered away from the world. I walked to the bed and sat down, a tiny flicker of light came from the computer console to my left, initiating its boot sequence. The day would soon begin. A paper printout emerged from the side of my bed, I grabbed it. It was my profile.

NAME: Emma Windsor

AGE: 16

HEIGHT: 167cm

WEIGHT: 55kg

RESIDENCE: Edgedell Research Center-1

CONDITION: Insomnia

Insomnia seemed like a mild condition on paper, easily remedied with homeopathy, or a change in habits, sleep medication, or melatonin; but because of my genetics, I was remanded here, like every other resident in the building. We were akin to lab mice, doctors would administer tests and would rarely achieve results. It made me wonder if a cure was even possible. I tried to place myself in the shoes of an average person. Would I want someone like myself out there? I couldn’t answer the question, but Edgedell was a beautiful city, and I truly longed to see more than what I could see from the windows.

I went to the desk again, rummaged through another drawer, and pulled out one of the first tourist brochures of Edgedell. “The City of the Now” and “The Center of Changes” as it was heralded in those days, and it definitely offered changes. Nestled between Los Angeles and San Francisco, Edgedell had grown to a large metropolis in only half a century. The city was governed by the same people who had saved humanity from near extinction, a history lesson that I was sure many people would love to forget, but to move forward we had to learn from our past.

Scores of avarice, greed, and abuse of power had sent economic systems tumbling worldwide, with the majority of the suffering landing on the shoulders of the middle to lower class populace. While normally an economic crisis affected everyone equally, those at the top felt little if anything at all. Even while people protested for help, clamored for change, and demanded action, governmental bodies did nothing for their constituents. Those who could did their best to survive, but the world threw another devastating blow. From years of unchecked environmental regulations and mounting pollution came the rising of global temperatures, bringing famine, relentless wildfires, dust storms, mass erosion, and most disturbingly, strange new diseases. Scientists from around the globe raced to learn about them and find cures, but even once they did, the aftermath of these diseases was something no one could foresee.

They said those who had been affected, had not only suffered physical, mental, and emotional trauma, but that their genetics had changed as well; and while they themselves may not have seen adverse effects from this, their lineage did. Sometimes affecting their children, or grandchildren, sometimes males, and sometimes females. The effects varied as well, the majority of the time resulting in severe mental illnesses, however it was said that simply carrying this strange strand of genetic code didn’t necessarily mean that the person would suffer adverse effects. That made no difference. In time, the people began to fear for their safety, and began to reach out to researchers and doctors, demanding they be tested for what the media named the Defective Gene. When the results came in, those who tested negative formed groups among themselves and distanced themselves from anyone they perceived to be positive. “Look for telltale signs” the propaganda said. They took to the streets, demanding something to be done.

A group of five people came forth, the aging owners of giant technological firms, they banded together and began what they called Project Edgedell. They promised that in this new city their technological advances would ease the worries of humanity. Their technology provided housing, food, and work. Stabling the still bleeding economy, but couldn’t fix the genetic crisis that afflicted the world. With humanity at each other’s throats they re-branded themselves as the The Technicians and began to govern the ever expanding region, ordering five separate facilities to be built across the city. These towering buildings known as Research Centers would serve as both housing, and care for those affected by the disease and thus began the gathering: Anyone who had "the Gene" was stripped from their homes and remanded to one of the five Centers, with many choosing to take their own lives than being imprisoned.

I stopped myself from ripping the book in half. I hated how even in my own mind I would ramble on with trains of thoughts. Defective, the ugly world, a slur, used by normal people to describe the afflicted. In anger, I slapped the cup away from the desk, watched as it crashed onto the floor, and shattered into pieces, the still warm liquid splashing in all directions. I began to cry. This genetic defect was the reason for my dismay, this wretched insomnia, which to anyone else was just a bout of sleeplessness, but "the gene" made people fear that it could morph into something worse, and that I would become a danger to myself and society… and perhaps they were right. My condition only seemed to worsen over time, sometimes making me go days without a wink of sleep, my mind feeling as though a million screams coursed through it at once. I would see shadows, stammer my words, and have involuntary spasms throughout my body.

The communication module next to my door hissed. 

"Good morning, Emma," said a female voice a moment later. "May I enter?"

I composed myself as best as I could, wiped my eyes with my hand, blew my nose with a tissue, and wiped my hands on the front of my gown.

“Y-yes,” I stammered, and quickly went to sit on the bed.

The door slowly slid open, a tiny creaking sound coming from the aging wheels below the door as it traversed across the rusty track. The silhouette of Dr. Vidra stood in the doorway, she adjusted her glasses, and lifted her rolling book bag as she stepped in. She removed her maroon colored coat, pressed her glasses against her face and settled herself into her chair. She began tapping away at the console screen. I could see her looking over at me out of the corner of my eye, catching the glare from her glasses as I sat at the edge of the bed looking down at my feet. She gave the screen a few more taps, walked over to her sanitation area and over the sound of running water she asked,

“Are you alright?” The faucet squeaking as she turned it off. “I thought I heard the sound of glass breaking.”

“I-I’m fine, Dr. Vidra,” I said, stammering. “I dropped my tea cup, is all.”

There was no doubt she had seen the mess in the corner. Dr. Vidra stood before me, and placed a gloved hand on my chin, and lifted my head. She looked into my eyes, which were surely even more red from tears.

“You were looking through it again, weren’t you?” her Indian accent often made her sound more stern than she usually was. I looked away from her dark brown eyes and gazed at her hair which was fashioned in a long braid, fastened across her chest, like a long strap. She let go of my face and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Emma, you know that sort of material---”

“Triggers me?” I said angrily, shifting my shoulders. “Yes, I know that but it also brings me solace.”

She sighed, gave me a small smile, and walked over to the machine next to my bed, pulled off a white cover from the chair attached to it, and pressed a pedal to lower it.

“Let’s begin, take a seat,” she said patting the backrest of the chair.

I exhaled, walked over to the chair and sat. Dr. Vidra flicked at a syringe, I extended my arm out, she pressed the pedal again, and the chair folded back like a bed. She moved over a long metal arm and switched on the light attached to it, I closed my eyes, the brightness made my eyes hurt. I winced as she stuck the needle in me, and tried to relax as best as I could.

“Turn your head, please,” she said, and I felt her attach a rubber node to the back of my head. The circular head fitting perfectly on a shaved area. I sighed and laid back feeling a small tug as the thick cable fell through the hole in the headrest. A small beep came from the machine, and I shut my eyes.

“Now, open your mouth, please,” said Dr. Vidra. I smelled a pungent odor, and tasted a bitter liquid. “Relax. We’ll be done soon.”

Another beep came from the machine, and I heard her step away. A strange cold feeling came over me, started at my toes and moved its way up my legs, settling in my belly for a moment, until finally rushing to my head with tremendous speed. I felt the urge to scream, as the back of my head trembled. Seconds later the trembling stopped, and my body felt felt warm and my muscles began to relax, I yawned and closed my eyes.

“How do you feel?” asked Dr. Vidra. I could see strange colors in my vision with my eyes closed. I didn’t want to open them, I wanted to doze off. This could finally be it, I wondered to myself. This was a new part of the procedure, usually she would only extract brain data and examine it, and just tell me to try different teas and change my habits: No activities near the bed, nothing stressful at night, and absolutely no caffeine. I yawned and made myself comfortable.

“I feel great,” I said. Was I high? Is this what that felt like? “So relaxed.”

I attempted to doze off, tried the methods she had recommended before, short quick breaths, followed by deep ones, and picturing serene landscapes. My mind and body kept fighting me. The machine beeped, and I opened my eyes as the liquid stopped pouring into my veins.

I gazed at the ceiling, everything around me looked fuzzy.

“What was that stuff? You’ve never done that before,” I giggled a bit, whatever that chemical was sure made my words sound slow and slurry.

“It's called Dream Therapy,” said Dr. Vidra quickly pulling the needle out of my arm. I winced and rubbed it, and waited for the stinging sensation to dissipate. One never really gets used to that, I suppose.

I reached for a lever on the side of the chair and sat upright.

“Is that why I felt really relaxed?” I grimaced tasting my own mouth.

“Yes, what you pictured in your mind just now, was actually sent from the Console to your brain, it was supposed to help you doze off enough to get a good sleep cycle going, the chemical is simply a sedative to help you relax, since the upload procedure has been said to be… uncomfortable,” she tapped at the screen and used her finger to drag something to the edge of the display.

"Can I have some water?" I asked. That ugly taste still remained in my mouth. She handed me a Styrofoam cup filled to the brim with tepid water. I took a large drink and swished the water in my mouth, swallowed, and felt relieved when the taste returned to normal.

Dr. Vidra scribbled on a notepad. I finished the rest of the water, letting out a small belch.

“So this is finally going to cure me?” I asked, swirling the tiny remnants of water around in the cup. “You’ve been my doctor for what? About a year? I still have yet to see any kind results.”

“Dream Therapy is a recently developed procedure. Medicine isn’t miracle work,” she said sternly. I had crossed the line. Dr. Vidra was the best in the city for sleep disorders. Unfortunately, she had mostly dealt with the average case of insomnia. Mine was probably her most challenging, and I was questioning her abilities. I could sense the hurt in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “But you know it’s not easy knowing that this is a genetic thing, and even if you find a cure--” I stopped, noticing my eyes begin to water-- “It won’t change the fact that I’m a damn defective!”

“Emma!” shouted Dr Vidra.

I watched her as she relaxed a clench fist. I felt horrible, but sometimes in the heat of self-loathing I couldn’t stop myself from speaking my mind. It was nothing against her, it was just mind-numbingly depressing going about day after day, for years on end, seeing things change, people go by, promises upon promises made, and still being stuck here. I often wondered if everyone else felt the same, or if they had just accepted that this was their fate, and made the best of it.

“It’s upsetting, I know,” she continued much calmly. “I understand your frustrations. I will do everything I can. Have faith.” She placed a stack of papers in her book bag and zipped it up. “I have to go to a meeting today, so we will stop the tests for today. Please try to relax.” She sighed, gave a small nod, and headed out the door.

-----

Because of my condition, I wasn’t allowed to have clocks or any other time telling devices in my room. I laid on the bed, and stared at the mirrored ceiling tiles for a few minutes, then slowly sat up and got off the bed, the cold linoleum tiles making me gasp as my bare feet touched the floor, the ambient heating had an auto-shutoff feature that could catch one off guard. I looked down at them, stretched my toes and scratched at a tea stain on the front of my gown. I walked over to the mirror next to the privy and frowned at myself. My hair looked like a reverse mullet, a type of hairstyle I had read about in a book once, long in front and buzzed in the back, with the small empty patch for the nodes. My coarse auburn hair slumped forward and I tried fixing it as best as I could with my hands. I gave up, and turned on the water faucet and began brushing my teeth, rinsed and spit, and made a face at the blue foam in the sink. The liquid from earlier must have stained my teeth. I looked up again, the prominent dark gray circles around my eyes was a dead reminder me that it had been at least four days since my last actual slumber, the bloodshot white parts of my eyes too.

I dried my lips, and my hands, and tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash receptacle.

There was a tiny knock on the door, a silence, and the knock came again.

“Is the door busted again?” I asked. “If the button isn’t working, just manually slide it to the left.”

The door creaked open, “Hullo Emma!” said a small voice.

I whirled around with a smile. Standing at the door was Molly, a young girl about nine. Her small freckled face lit up with a smile. "May I come in?" she asked. I nodded.

Even in this large place, I didn't have many friends. Molly seemed to be the only person aside from doctors and researchers who had a genuine interest in me. She sat at the corner of my bed watching the blinking lights on the machine I had been hooked up to earlier. Her glasses gleamed in the sun's light, as it reflected off of the adjacent building.

"How was your sleep?" she asked sucking on her thumb. "You probably had a great dream!" 

A curious, and hopeful child, she was brought to ERC-1 when she was only five. Molly had a what would seem as a mild version of schizophrenia; in reality it was a bit more severe than normal but it was kept under control, though she couldn't do much without being heavily monitored, having a guardian around the clock. A device on her ankle monitored her vitals and administered medicine throughout the day. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big hug. My five-foot-six frame towering over her four feet and seven inches of height. I ruffled her hair and she snorted. She was like a little sister to me.

“Oh wow!” she exclaimed. She ran towards the window and pressed her forehead against the glass. “There’s a lot of people out today!” She silently counted each one. I admired her enthusiasm, even battling something so severe didn’t deter her happy-go-lucky attitude.

“Emma, there’s fifty-five,” she said, turning to me, her eyes gleaming with happiness. “Do you think it’s a parade?”

“It could be,” I said yawning. Her eyes lit up, and widened.

A woman frantically ran past the door, came back, and caught her breath.

“There you are!” said the woman, holding her chest and breathing slowly. “I’m sorry Emma she ran off! She’s quite adventurous.” She laughed, came in and took Molly by the hand.

“It’s okay, Cornelia,” I reassured her. “It’s hard to get lost in a place like this.” I always welcomed their company. Some patients like Molly were assigned an aide or guardian from their arrival until the day they turned twenty-five. Cornelia had been assigned to her on the day of her arrival, and aside from Molly’s estranged parents, she was the only thing near to a family that she had.

It wasn’t unusual for a patient’s family to completely abandon them, after all there was a stigma attached to knowing someone in a Research Center, or being related to them. I knew very little about my family, I had always assumed I was orphaned, or just abandoned.

“We’re going down to the mess hall for breakfast,” said Cornelia tugging on Molly’s arm while the child attempted to escape her grip. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

I nodded, and put on a pair of slippers, wiggled my toes in them so they fit snug, and walked out the door with them. Cornelia kept nearly being knocked off of her feet, by Molly who kept trying to skip. I tried not to laugh.

The cafeteria was a couple floors below mine, almost nestled within the middle of the building. It had six rows of circular tables, with four seats bolted down to the floor. It always made me uncomfortable to think that the layout resembled that of a prison, but it made sense if a place were to house so many people at once. The cafeteria, or mess hall as some referred to it was the only area within the facility that allowed for the mixing of the genders, still divided by a bright yellow line down the middle. Boys on one side, and girls on the other, similar to the rest of the place, where girls took the east side, and boys to the west. It was loudest during lunch, since most patients had the energy to be loud, rowdy, and talkative. The food was passable to say the least, but the majority of everyone here knew nothing else.

Breakfasts normally consisted of cereal, or scrambled egg whites, porridge, toast and fruit. The guardians and aides could opt for coffee, while patients had a choice of milk, orange juice, or water. The food was supposed to give you enough energy to make it through the day, as I had heard an aide explain to her patient once “this ain’t no five-star restaurant” when she grimaced at a glob of porridge, so most of us ate, regardless of whether or not the meals were enjoyable.

I grabbed a tray, a couple pieces of toast, a box of orange juice, and fruit salad. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I hadn’t had anything other than tea since yesterday evening. I took a seat by the window, and gazed outside, from this area of ERC-1 I could see the neighborhood park in the distance, the neatly cut grass, and trimmed trees reminding me that I was on the nice side of town.

A tray slammed onto the table and made me jump, I looked over to see a girl take a seat beside mine.

“Morning, pet,” she said, taking a hefty spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “How are ya?”

Sonora Hawthorn wasn’t particularly my most favorite person, I didn’t hate her entirely, but wouldn’t exactly call her a friend. She was a tall girl about two years my senior, a transfer from ERC-3, her arms decorated with markings and scars from the fights she had been in, her left eye, was bleach white from losing it in one of them, and she wore her hair depending on who she was channeling that day. Attempting to guess which was the closest to a game of Russian Roulette one could get inside of here. Sonora had Multiple Personality Disorder, and claimed to be Manic Depressive, acquired as she put it from all the trauma she had endured as a child, and from being placed in different facilities. To my knowledge, she had been here at least four weeks.

“Did you go deaf, or somethin’?” she asked, and tugged at my arm. I pulled away, and kept looking out the window. “Hey!” she yelled again, and almost slammed the handle of her spoon into my hand when she was stopped by her aide.

I turned around, glanced at her strange tinted hair, that I was sure she attempted to dye with pen ink, it was parted to the side, with a long, edged lock covering her blind eye. Given her propensity to become enraged quickly, I had a split second to guess right.

“Hey Michael,” I said, attempting to smile.

“Wow, pet, you’re getting good at this,” said Sonora. Michael was one of two personalities Sonora chose to channel, a tough, masculine, promiscuous character. The other was Michelle, a more feminine personality that acted sweet, and caring, but only as a way to get things from someone. She shoved another spoonful of cereal and chewed loudly. “Gotta tell ya, I was considering bashing your face through that window if you got it wrong.” Besides getting which personality she was channeling wrong, what really upset her was being called by her natural name.

I shivered. I preferred to stay out of trouble through any means necessary, and often preferred to be alone. I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.

Her aide poured herself a hefty amount of coffee, and took a long drink. Her eyes blinked slowly and she yawned. Being Sonora’s aide must’ve been tough work. She looked at me, raised her cup, and forced a smile. Sonora shoved her tray forward, reached into her pocket, and placed a cigarette in her mouth, causing her aide to yank it away from her.

“Felicity, what the fuck?” shouted Sonora, crossing her arms. “It’s just a smoke.”

“Language!” said Felicity sternly and stuffed the contraband in her pocket. Since the majority of us patients were minors, we weren’t allowed cigarettes, but that didn’t mean some didn’t know how to keep to their vices. I tried my best not to laugh.

“So, why do you call me ‘pet’?” I asked glancing at her while taking a sip of orange juice. I saw Cornelia and Molly take a seat at another table, Molly looked over at me and frowned. I felt her discomfort.

“You’re Vidra’s, right?” she asked stretching her arm and scratching at a scab.

“Yeah, she’s been my doctor for about five months now… why?” I was confused, I didn’t see her sudden interest in knowing about my medical life.

“That must mean you get pretty nice perks, considering she’s Head and all,” she smirked and flicked the scab from her arm. I blinked in confusion, I had no idea Dr. Vidra was Head Doctor of the facility.

“She’s Head?” I asked surprised. “Since when?”

“Like two weeks now, you didn’t know?”

I shook my head.

I blinked, and realized that’s why she had under a lot of stress lately, and immediately felt horrible for the things I had said earlier.

I finished the orange juice, and stood up. “Nice seeing you.” People often said that Sonora only took slight interest in someone if she felt she’d get something out of it. What she could ever want from me, was something I couldn’t wrap my head around. I shook away the thought and walked over to Molly and Cornelia. Sonora had left, only her tray remained on the table.

“Breakfast was yummy,” said Molly smiling. “Cornelia said it’s okay that you talk to the mean girl, just be careful okay?”

“I will, kiddo,” I ruffled her hair. “So, you guys doing anything cool today?”

“I think I’ll take her to the garden later, and let her get some fresh air,” said Cornelia. “We’ve gotta go and change this little one into a new gown. We’ll see you later for supper.”

I smiled and watched them leave.

My day was free, with Dr. Vidra busy there wasn’t much for me to do. I placed my tray in the soiled tray pile and made my way back to my room.