Young Writers Society

[This is not yet complete. I do plan to finish it, so please feel free to comment.]

The four sat in opposite corners, never quite knowing how exactly they had gotten there. The white-walled room, congruent in every way, even to the very chairs they sat in, was so eerily silent, so pristine, so fresh, so very perfect, that the four found no need to move at all. They merely sat in their perfect corners and stared at one another, the only imperfections in their little world.

The four wore white shirts and pants, white shoes with white laces, and on their chests were four symbols, not numbers or letters, but symbols, easily recognizable. The first man had a simple line, which he first thought looked like the number one, but dismissed that idea when he saw the others’ shirts. The woman to his left had on her chest a large X, not the letter she recognized immediately, but another symbol. The man to her left had a triangle on his shirt, a simple shape, but with his symbol, they began to see what pattern was in order. The last woman in the room had a square. One, two, three, four; not numbers per se, but amounts. One line, two lines crossed, three connected, four. Symbols they were familiar with, a system they could register. And on each of their right temples, a white device protruded. They knew instinctively not to touch it for fear of reprisal, as if they had been trained all their lives not to touch it, as one learned not to touch a snake or stick a hand into fire. The device only raised more questions: what was it meant for? would it tell them something? would it kill them if they touched it?

On the four walls, reflecting their plain faces and plain bodies and the room’s plain white paint, were four long horizontal mirrors. The four felt a weighty presence behind those mirrors, watching, bearing them down to the floor. Waiting for now, as the four were content enough just to sit, but also watching. No doubt evaluating, calculating, assessing, appraising. Waiting. Watching. Rather boring work. Rather tedious work.

A piercing wail came from the ceiling, through a vent above their heads; a tiny and insignificant little hole. It was also centered, like everything else in the room. It was symmetric. It was perfect.

When the wailing finally sputtered out, the four saw the walls overcome by blue light: the deepest shade they had ever seen. It was of the darkest skies, the deepest of ocean trenches. Blue so beautiful it screamed a tranquil escape. At each of their corners, directly above their heads, a small black nozzle fell from the ceiling. A jet of smoke, or of steam perhaps, colored by the walls’ blue, grew thick and enveloped the room. They breathed in the concoction without much objection. Once its influence was fully in effect, the four felt a rumbling deep within their stomachs and their hearts fluttered. Their hands shook along with the rest of their bodies. They began to sink deep into the walls. The mirrors only reflected more of that deep hue. They were lost, wandering aimlessly into the deep recesses of the room. They discovered new worlds, found uncharted abysses. Slowly, they gathered to the center of the room while the blue light danced with more vivacity then ever before. Line grasped Square’s arm in despair. X joined the two, and Triangle sat aside from the rest and wept. The four had never known such anguish. They wandered and wandered, but never arrived. Some destination awaited them, but it never came.

The blue gently faded and the walls once again were white. The four, terrified and confused, made it awkwardly back to their corners. It seemed that this part of their ordeal was over.