Lakeridge Middle School student Amelia Day’s short story “Two minds, one fate” placed third in Pierce County Library’s “Our Own Expressions” art and writing contest. More than 672 pieces of art and writing were submitted for the contest, and will be available to see at 7 p.m. on May 27 at Pacific Lutheran University’s Lagerquist Concert Hall.

Two minds, one fate

I wake up to find myself shackled to the wall. I know why I’m here. Sometimes I feel as if I know too much. There are others out there like me, though for all I know they’re dead or worse, subjected to the laboratory testing. We all share a unique trait, we all have tried to keep it hidden, but we all knew that eventually we would be found out… like I am now. The common trait we share? We can all think with two, for lack of a better word, minds at the same time. There is no scientific name for our condition, because for all the public knows, we don’t exist. I can focus both of my minds on one thing, much like the average human can with their one mind, but that comes with a side effect, and not a bad one. I am able to use twice the brain power of one of my minds alone, and even one of the minds I keep in my head, is smarter than the average. Though I could have easily excelled in all of my classes, my parents warned me that I had to keep my intelligence to myself, so I wouldn’t end up in a bad situation…the exact one I’m in now.

My mind has gone through countless scenarios in my head. All of my life I have feared the moment I step into whatever painful, torture they have dreamed up, and now here I am. Hours, maybe minutes away to finding out what I have wondered and feared about for all of my childhood, finding out what will happen. In a strange way, I am intrigued at finally figuring out the question that has plagued me my entire life, the one question I have yet to solve, but I know that the relief at solving that puzzle would fall away soon. Soon I will know, soon I will find out, and soon I will suffer like I have never suffered before. I am frightened beyond belief, but I need to keep myself in the present.

As I lay on the ground, I scan the room finding it desolate, clean, and without even one bit of furniture in the place, let alone a toilet. I reason that without the means of a toilet and the cleansed condition of the room, they will not leave me in here long enough to force me to use the floor as a lavatory. No, they will get me, and bring me somewhere. I don’t know where, but I’m sure that I will soon find out.

The door creaks open slowly, and a young man walks through. With my eyes, I beg him to help, but he won’t meet my desperate gaze.

“Follow me,” the man says in a deep baritone voice. I walk toward him slowly. Struggling will not help, only compliance. He leads me through the maze-like hallways. I blink constantly as I stumble down the corridor. Whatever drug they gave me must have made me unsteady and the bright white lights they installed here are certainly not helping. Suddenly, he stops at another door, numbered 415 and I nearly run into him. He says nothing as he gestures towards the door, but I can see the not-quite-concealed concern on his face. Maybe he’s not entirely bought into the whole “researching” thing, but he says nothing, so I stay silent as well.

I place my hand on the sleek metal doorknob and glance over at the guard for confirmation. Seeing him nod, I open the door shakily, more nervous than ever. I had only heard stories from my parents, only myths of what these rooms really held, but I’m not sure I would even want to know the instruments of my pain, the instruments that would deliver my torture. Peeking into the room, I see a single woman clad in all black and adorned with a shining necklace. She is sitting in a chair, and is studying the walls of the room, though they are bare, but for one metal door. I shudder. What could be beyond it, sleek, metal machines, shackled medical beds? I shake these thoughts out of my mind. Only focus on what you know, I remind myself in my head. I focus my minds back on the lady in the chair. I wouldn’t call this woman appealing, though I wouldn’t call her ugly. She has a sort of cold power about her, stiff straight features, and just looking at her makes me feel a sense of fear. As I come into the room step after shaky step, her snake-like eyes flit across my body, judging my every feature.

“Abby, I’ve heard much about you,” she said slowly, calculating. I don’t know whether to thank her or demand what it was that she had heard, so I stayed silent. Rising from the chair (metal and white, as is seemingly everything in this place), she comes toward me.

“I know you may be frightened, but don’t worry.” she says, taking my hand. I felt a strange urge to trust her, though I knew it was just an act.

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” I say forcefully.

“Here is where you need to be,” she responds back coldly, as a warning. I feel a chill pass across my back. Clearing her throat, she continues on her mantra.

“You are a key part to our research facility, renowned for its study of newly discovered neuroscience, the study of others much like you.”

“Like me in what way?” I defiantly retort, not thinking of the consequences it might bring.

“I think you know that answer,” she said, before turning her back on me.

Carefully, she pulls a gun out of her pocket.

“I’m not afraid of using this,” she says, slowly, her gaze focused on the handgun. She absentmindedly starts to spin it around the fingers of her hand in a carefree way that frightens me even more.

“No, we can get most of the information we need with you dead. Of course, having you alive would be much more valuable, though I’m not sure you’ll want to even be alive once we get started.” The curves of her mouth turn upward slightly at this, but soon drift back down into their normal position. Again my eyes dart to the door, number 416, but I quickly turn my attention back to her. I have the sense to ask no more questions, only follow this mysterious and deadly woman across the room to the numbered, white door that holds the answers to all of my current questions.

“Your turn Abby,” she says menacingly, stepping away from the door, implying that I should go in. This was the moment I had feared. The moment of clarity, but yet, the moment of great sorrow. Taking a deep breath, I slowly grip the cool handle, open the dreaded door, and step into whatever awaits me.