Young Writers Society

Meridith Jones

I woke up to the sounds of knocking on my door. "Oh no." I say. "Just a minute." I tell the people at the door as I rush to get some clothes on. I buttoned my pants and opened the door. "Mrs. Jones, we are the interviewers, you were one of the first few we wanted to interview." a man said. "Yes, come in." I say with a bright smile.

They all walked in and we sat on the couches. "What is your strengths that make you think you are a good canidate for MarsOne?" the interviewer asked. I smile for a moment and then answer them,"Well I am good with people and have a motivational mind, I guess you could say." The interview person had a smile on his face and they asked me a few more questions before leaving.

I already had my bags packed so I got in my car and head to MarsOne. When I got there someone greeted me. "Your name is?" the lady asked. "Meridith....Meridith Jones." I say. She smiles with wide eyes. "Room 47, down the hall on the right." she says. I took my stuff and the key and headed that way. When I got to the room I looked around and seen a camera in the small corner of the room.

A few minutes later, all my stuff was put up and then I heard a loud intercom. "All applicants, it is now time for supper. Rooms one to fifty, turn left and follow the corridor to enter the food hall. Fifty-one to one hundred, turn right and follow the corridor to enter the food hall." I smiled, because I was starving and walked out the door turning left.

Bas Lansdorp

"Dad?" Annabeth pulled at her father's sleeve. "Dad!"
Lansdorp looked down and smiled.
"Pleeeease can I come watch? Please can I come? Pleeease?" She widened her eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled at it imploringly.
Lansdorp managed to frown concernedly. "Now, Anna, you know you it's only the psychological evaluations. It won't be much fun. Mr Kraft is going to talk to all the strange people and make sure they aren't crazy."
"Pleeeease?" Annabeth's eyes widened even more until Lansdorp felt that her was about to be sucked into them.
"Oh, all right," he said, giving up on the stern frown and leading the way to the evaluations room.

It looked like an interrogation chamber, what with the one-way mirror and small, forbidding table, on either side of which two cheap plastic chairs were placed. It was only partially to stimulate the nerves of the participants, Kraft had told him. The real reason was to look good for the cameras. Lansdorp could spot at least four cameras mounted on the walls alone.
"Come on in," Kraft gestured from the doorway of the observational unit, shielded from the main room by the darkened mirror. "It's going to be a long sit."
He had a plastic cup of coffee, and his clipboard with forms and notes.
Annabeth sat down cross-legged on the floor and stared through the mirror with glazed eyes as firstly the tester, then the first participant entered. The man looked nervous — he threw a sidelong glance at the mirror and licked his lips. Kraft started to scribble.
"Hi there," the tester said tonelessly. "You are about to start the word associations test. I shall read a short list of words and show you a few images," he tapped a pile of flash cards, "and you have only to say the first word that pops into your head at each one. Do you understand?"
The man nodded. He was stroking his hands up and down his legs slowly as if to comfort himself. His ankles were wrapped around the legs of the chair.
"Cat."
"Night," the man replied.
"Sharp."
"Knife."
"Home."
"Um... Love."
"Sight."
"Sound."
The tester continued to rap out the words and the unusual dialect continued. Then the tester drew the first of the pictures. It was a splatter of colors that seemed to have no shape. The man hesitated, turning his head.
"Watermelon?" he finally pronounced slowly.
The tirade continued, and when Lansdorp looked up from his own notes, Annabeth was still glued to the mirror, mouth slightly open in fascination.
"Next, please," the tester called as the man exited.
"How many of these did you say there were?" Lansdorp asked Kraft.
"One hundred, of course."
"Of course." Lansdorp sighed in the knowledge that he was the only one who was bored with the proceedings already.

Dylan

Painfully aware that camera were watching his every move, even in his room, Dylan bounced on his toes and swung his arms back and forth. He was trying to get himself...well, psyched for the psych evaluations today. He'd have to be extra careful not to let anything slip that wasn't supposed to, like he did at the motel.

He found his way to the testing room a few minutes before his scheduled evaluation time, and waited outside for the last candidate to be released. It was all done up like an interrogation room inside. "I thought we were filming a reality show, not a cop drama," he said with a smirk.

The uptight-looking guy with the clipboard informed him flatly how this thing was going to go down. He started listing off words.

"Cat."
Easy. Dylan said, "Dog."

"Sharp"
He thought for an undetectable moment before saying "Point."

"Home"
Dylan drew a breath, sharper than he would have liked. His heart rate increased. He was glad he wasn't hooked up to a lie detector. "F-family."

The test was fairly simple. Dylan hoped he wasn't overthinking it. there were a bunch more word pairs, and then some random splotches of colour Dylan was supposed to find a picture in. Most of them he had to squint and think for a while bwfore anything even remotely appeared among the random blobs. Ugh. Art. Who needs it, anyway?

Once he was done the test, Dylan went to work out, just to loosen up. He should have been looking where he was going, because on his way down the hall, he ran right into a woman and almost knocked her down. He grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Whoops." he said. "Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm Dylan. You alright?"

Leon Waters

Leon leans his back against a wall in a waiting room, checking the participants on his left and right with his eyes. The overall competitive hostility in their eyes makes him sigh, recalling his study days.
If I get there, heck, I wish the team will be cooperative. This whole 'everybody for himself' crap tires me out.

A door opens on his right and Dylan walks out, the eagerness to loosen up apparent in his quick movement.
"Next, please."
Try and surprise me, I guess.

Leon takes his time standing up and enters the next room, silently sitting down yet in another chair, yet this time there's only one man in front of him with a bunch of papers on a plain desk.
"Hello."
"Hi there. You are about to start the word associations test. I shall read a short list of words and show you a few images and you have only to say the first word that pops into your head at each one. Do you understand?" Like a robot, I pity him.
"Sure."

The man casts his eyes on a paper with words in his hands.
"Cat."
Following his example, Leon answers with a monotonous voice: "Cute."
"Sharp."
"Edge."
"Home."
"Rest."
"Sight."
"Mountains."

Having finished the exchange in seconds, the man starts picking up papers with splatters of colors, and so their monotonous exchange continues until all the papers are done with.
Nothing new in the end, heh.

Dorian London:

“We're now going to begin the word association test. After I say each word, I'll be expecting you to respond with a word. I want you to answer as quickly as possible” I don’t know what swayed me not to trust Doctor Kraft. Maybe it was the disorienting light shining on my face, or the two way mirror with a gaze that felt cold steel needles grazing across my skin. Or, maybe, it was his stony grey eyes . . . they seemed to search for and pry open every dark corner of my mind . . . They were eyes that had also belonged to my father. He smiled that painted on smile of his. “Do you understand, Dorian?” There are daggers in the smiles of men. I nodded slowly, and glared at his mordant features. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin . . .” I watched as he picked up his pen and brought an off white piece of paper to the foreground. I had been waiting for the psychological test with dread. My mind had always dangled by a thin thread. It was what some of my colleagues said had contributed to my brilliance. . . But If I passed, it would be a miracle in its own right. Miracles however, didn’t happen to me. All my achievements were marred by setbacks and the lingering bruises of an abusive child hood, visible to anyone who cared to look. I didn’t try to hide it. I wore who I was on my sleeve. But I would never be deemed ‘normal’ by this long nosed man, with his judgmental and cold eyes . . . what was normal anyway? I deserved to go to Mars. No, It was more than that . . . I had to go to Mars. And I would do anything to get there . . . and if it meant slipping on a mask of normality for a few hours, what could be easier?
The first word fell from his lips “Cat.”
“Dog.”
“Sharp,” An image swam before me in the Doctor’s eyes; A black belt, dancing violently as it lashed against my skin . . . The sharp caress of steal . . . I swallowed hard. “ . . . B-blunt . . .” I pulled at my scarf as the Doctor scratched away on the paper with his pen. The thin fabric was beginning to feel like a noose.
“Home,” he continued.
A dark smile twisted on my lips, my gaze intent on his stony eyes “Love.”
“Eyes” I was silent for a moment too long. The Doctor paused and met my gaze.
“Villain.” He didn’t look away.
“Friendly.”
“Naïve,” I answered without hesitation.
“To sin.”
“To pray.”
“Cold.”
“M-mother . . .”
“God.”
“Laughter.”
“To die . . .”
I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands slowly . . . those hands that held so many of my frailties. I felt the intensity of my gaze soften.
“To dream . . .”

I hadn’t brought many belongings with me. I waited out in the car park that afternoon with my backpack and the hood of my coat up over my head. The small fire of my cigarette smouldered in the falling rain as I mulled over the answers I had given. “Cold, mother . . .God, laughter” I ground my teeth together “To die . .. to dream . . .” I laughed darkly and threw my cigarette butt into the pooling water by my feet. "That was probably what did it . . ." I could suddenly see the person I had been waiting for standing before me. “Doctor . . .” I said with a twisted smile which he returned. He sighed deeply and began unlocking his car. “I thought you’d be waiting for me . . . If you want to know why I failed you –“
“Of course I know why you failed me,” I spat “Daddy hit me and Mummy didn’t do shit about it. I’m damaged goods . . .”
“Actually, Dorian, many of the contestants who come from similar backgrounds as you passed the psyche test. You’re a dream contestant to have really. A modern day genius such as yourself –“
I laughed “A modern day failure you mean . . .” the Doctor looked at me with a piercing gaze. “I failed you because you’ve alienated yourself from reality, Dorian. Day thirty of being cooped up in a spaceship with the same faces day in, day out, these mild signs of psychosis could lead to some disastrous situations, perhaps for you . . . perhaps for someone else . . .You're too risky.”
“Everyone on earth can be diagnosed with a mental illness, Doctor . . .” I said bitterly. He stared me down with that cold gaze of his. “Then why have you been waiting for me, Dorian?”
I swallowed hard. I was thankful for the rain smattering my face as hot tears began to fall. I’m still a child. “Can you tell me . . . What do I do now?”

The interviews had went faster than Shanel thought they would, she was a little late but thankfully she had just made it in time. She felt they had went pretty well overall, there were no complications and she was invited for the first set of examinations before they could get started. She was very excited about this.

"Next one!" a voice called out startling her. She jumped up from her seat and started walking towards the room where she would be going to take the tests. It was much darker than she would expect, the only thing in the room was a mirror on a wall and a table diving the interviewer from the interviewee, there was a man sitting across the table staring at some papers. She cleared her throat.

"Okay, take a seat please," she heard no emotion in his voice, she was a bit startled. "So I am going to start the word association tests for you, just say the first thing that comes to mind when I say a word, I will move on to other tests after that," Shanel nodded.

He started with some causal words, that she immediately thought of a reply to, and then continued on to more specific words,

"Birds"

"Wings" she replied.

"Pillows" she coughed up laughter.

"Pillows?" she asked. He gave her a quick nod. "comfort," she quickly replied, knowing this was a no nonsense person. She was already starting to feel quite uncomfortable with all the awkward lights and the fact that there was seemingly no air in the room, or space. She wanted to leave, she shifted her legs under the table a bit and lightly tapped her fingers on the table. The tester continued.

"Leaves"

"Green"

"Books"

"Knowledge" and so it continued. She tried her best through her fears, uncomfortability and nervousness still answer the questions with swift confidence in order to make a name for herself, she could do it and she just wanted to prove it.

Once everything was done she was quite worn out, it seemed like all she wanted to do was find her place to stay there and go to sleep. She left the room with sleepy eyes, and walked around trying to find someone who would tell her where exactly she could stay, as she was walking someone rushed past her almost knocking her down. He helped steady her, but she was getting ready to just fall down from exhaustion. 'You'll never get accepted if you get so easily tired' she reminded herself. She looked up to hear,

"Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm Dylan. You alright?" She gave him a small reassuring smile and nodded, holding her hand to her head.

"It was just a little too weird for me, but I'm perfectly fine. My name is Shanel,"

Bas Lansdorp

He looked at the face of the young man before him. Tears were mingling with the rain streaking his face.
"Look, just because you failed one test does not mean all is lost," he said sharply. "Now, I want you to listen carefully and read through the procedure again. You will find a copy of it in your room. Every contestant enters the competition on equal terms. Some fail a few tests, others fail most. A lucky few pass all. Failing one test does not mean that you will be eliminated immediately."
"But most people passed this one, didn't they? This was meant to be easy."
Lansdorp did not deny it, but said instead, "The word association test is very vague. It is only one of a series of psychological tests we'll put you through. If you pass most of those, you could be on your way to becoming part of group B; that is the second training group. That means that you will be a... how should I put this... backup group in case the first fails."
Dorian's eyes cleared. A few cogs in his expansive brain clicked out of panic and into hope.
"So it isn't all over?" he breathed. "I'm not out?"
"Far from it. Now read those regulations properly, and prepare yourself for the next tests tomorrow. I think there might be some problem-solving challenges mixed into the lot."
Dorian's lips twitched.
"So in answer to your question," Lansdorp got into his car, "go back to your room, get some rest, keep calm and carry on. Who knows — you might get to Mars yet."

Dorian London walked out of the parking lot with a set look. Lansdorp started the car. There was so much about that contestant which was perfect — his application was spotless, his qualifications were incredible — but his psychosis, that blasted brain of his... It was too much of a risk to send him off in the trial group. Lansdorp knew it was unfair, but he had already decided what he would do with London — he would become team B, the other astronauts, allocated the forty first seat.

"Daddy, who was that man?" Annabeth piped from the back seat.
Lansdorp jumped. He had almost forgotten she was there.
"Just a man, Anna, just a man," he murmured softly as he drove them home for the night.

__________________________________________________________________________


Eri Chapman

"And it's such a lot of bother, all these tests," the woman drawled, sipping her coffee. "I mean, I think we all know who's in or not."
Eri fervently hoped that she would not be stuck in a spaceship with this person. She eyed the cameraman who was aiming his instrument of destruction at their faces nervously.
"The name's Lisa Thybolt, and yours?"
"I'm Eri," she muttered and was just about to move to a different table, carrying her tray with her, when another girl plunked her tray down beside her and sat down confidently on the bench, penning Eri in.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked.
Eri shook her head and gave a smile. The people here were outrageous characters. This one had short, red hair and an air of strength about her which defied expectations — she was short, slender and youthful-looking.
"I'm Lynn Carry," the girl said, digging into her food. "How d'you do?"
"I'm Eri," Eri said for the second time.
"And I'm Lisa Thybolt. I haven't seen you around much, Lynn Carry." She seemed to be attempting to talk down at the smaller contestant, but it obviously wasn't working. Lynn looked up with a single raised eyebrow, chewed her food slowly, swallowed and took a second bite without saying anything. Lisa reddened visibly and struck back.
"I hear some people have failed their Association Tests. I got my results and it says I've got eighty-seven percent. What did you get?"
Eri winced at Lisa's smug air.
Lynn calmly swallowed her food with an amused expression and said, "Four percent."
"Four percent?" Lisa was definitely enjoying herself now. Her mouth twisted into a diabolical sneer. "How on earth can anyone fail such an easy test?"
"I was thinking the same thing," Lynn said, reaching into her pocket.
"What?"
The cameraman was zooming in furiously and getting into a better position. It made Eri feel sick.
Lynn unfolded the sheet of paper she had taken out and pushed it over to Lisa. Eri craned her neck and was able to read, "WORD ASSOCIATION TEST SCORE: Psychopathy: 2%; Nervous Psychosis: 5%; Hysteria: 1%..." all the way down to "...OVERALL SCORE: 4%."
"So?" Lisa snarled, throwing the paper back at her. "You failed!"
"You're reading it wrong," Lynn said, licking her spoon leisurely. "It rates you on psychotic symptoms. I wonder what got you so high. Perhaps the Fanatic Narcissism column?"

At the first aid station, Eri winced as a medic applied antiseptic to the cut on her face.
"I'm sorry," Lynn said. "I let her flail around too much. But it's really difficult to restrain someone properly when you're stuck in a one-piece table."
Eri tried to nod, but the medic held her head still. Lynn was having stitches put into a long cut in her arm, where Lisa had slashed at her with the knife.
"Do you think we'll be back in time for the next test?" she asked, eyeing her watch. "I really don't want to miss it. I think it was the claustrophobia test, if I remember correctly. Should be fun, don't you think?"
Eri tried to nod again, but the medic gave her a stern look.
"I don't need stitches too, do I?" Eri felt on the verge of crying.
"Only if you don't stop moving," the medic muttered.
Lynn laughed merrily and poked a few completed stitches.
"It isn't that bad, you know. It just feels ticklish and tugs a little."
Eri didn't feel much better. It was hard to speak naturally with the cameraman hovering in front of them.