Bodies

Darkness. Everything is darkness. And the cold. It’s so cold. I hear moaning in the distance. The frigidity creeps through my body, making me aware of my limbs. My heartbeat, unnoticeable before, pounds through my head. It’s deafening. Every part of me wants to explode outwards. I want to scream. I don’t know how. I’m choking. I’m going to die before I even had a chance to live.

Air. I need air. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to. My body spasms. I scream �" a primal cry, something older than time. The sound fills the void and returns to my ears, a horrific, mangled screech. Undeveloped vocal cords. Not defective, just requiring use. The scream pushes the excess liquid out of my pulmonary tract. Sputtering, coughing, I take gasping breaths. I can breathe. Oxygen floods my system. Oxygen is life. I can breathe. Taking deeper breaths, I can feel the pounding in my head subsiding. The oxygen begins to push blood throughout my body, to my arms and legs, fingers and toes. Everything is so cold.

I can think. That much I know. I can process thoughts. And I can feel. My body lays pressed against a hard surface. The cold has started to give way to another sensation. Wetness. I’m covered in a slimy substance. It coats every inch of my body, and doesn’t seem to give much inclination of drying up any time soon. I pull my arm towards my face. It complies. Okay, I can move. Good sign. I drag my hand and elbow across my face, wiping the slime from my eyes and nose. It doesn’t help much, but after some effort, I manage to get enough off of my eyes to attempt opening them.

The world is so bright. I shut them immediately, not at all expecting light. It doesn’t matter. I need to see. Slowly, carefully, I open my eyes, millimeters at a time. The brightness is all-encompassing. There is no turning away from it. Eventually, it dims enough to open my eyes fully. Even with the power of sight, I am unable to understand what I’m looking at.

Fleshy figures line the ground. Some of them are beginning to look around, pushing themselves up off the ground. The others lay still, likely not having begun their waking processes. I try to speak to the others, making myself known as a non-threat. The sounds that come out of my mouth are incomprehensible, the furthest thing from words. Okay, no point in trying to speak; I’m just going to draw unnecessary attention to myself. I look down at myself, unsure of what to expect. Unsurprisingly, I look the same as the others. Fleshy body, tan, covered in a slimy mucous membrane. The walls are all white, extending up to the ceiling where harsh fluorescent bulbs shine like the sun. The sun? No. The sun is supposed to give warmer lighting… Right? I don’t know. I’ve never seen the sun before. I don’t know where I’m getting this information from.

Thoughts form from words pulled from the recesses of my mind. But there was no background information. I just know these things.

Who am I? I rack my brain for a name. Nothing comes up. Where am I? If I had to guess, a hospital probably. What am I? Human. Couldn’t be anything else. What now? I don’t really know to be honest. Guess I’ll wait around and find out. Maybe I could talk to the others for more information? Nah, they probably know just as much as I do. After all, we were all born at the same time.

A door opens and an entrancing light pours in. Even brighter than the fluorescent spotlights hanging from the ceiling. The bodies lift themselves from their slumber and begin moving towards the now open door, transfixed. Moths to a flame. Unwavering in their decision. I find myself moving towards it too, my feet taking their own path. I let them. I am too curious and concerned about what is beyond that light than to consider something like safety.

I step through the doorway eventually, and feel my feet give way to nothing. I drop like a rock. Before I am even able to react, I’ve fallen onto a soft surface, a dull thud echoing through my body. Fear has clenched my eyes tightly shut, and I have to once again make a great effort to open them. I open them to find the world moving behind me. No, rather, I am the one moving. A conveyor belt carries me forward, moving at a near walking pace. It is as wide as a three lane highway, and resembling one as well. The other bodies have also landed on the tarmac, and are traveling with me. Some figures in white Hazmat suits are in the distance, I can see them approaching each body. They take some notes, attach a tag, and direct them into one of the lanes. The bodies obediently follow instructions. As they walk closer, I see various tools in their hands. Multiple colored tags, pens, clipboards, and other bits and bobs I don’t recognize. What the hell is a bit and bob? Why did I think of that? 

The figures tag the person in front of me and step to me. “ID 60724022”, one of the suits says. It’s hard for me to make out which one said it, their masks reach completely around and slightly obscure their faces. I imagine that they’re aliens, analyzing and sorting me to be used as a food source for their queen so she can produce eggs to propagate the species. The thought is fleeting, the figures move on, and I have been sorted into the rightmost of the three lanes.

Ahead on the left lane, I see it branch off and move into another corridor, one that emanates a mean orange light. Definitely not the sun. I don’t know where that corridor goes, but suddenly I feel glad that I was fortunate enough to get placed into this lane. I continue staring at the left corridor, and realize there are words written on the outside in dark blue or black paint. The words say “Trash”. Interesting. Maybe those bodies are being asked to help take trash out. Excited at the prospect of receiving a job so early in life, I try to peer over at what the other corridors say. The center lane continues forward and the rightmost lane branches to the right, bringing me into a corridor with the words “Production” exuding blue light that reminds me of the ocean. Once again, I am caught off guard by the mentions of things that I have never experienced, but speak of as though I have. The ocean tunnel opens up into a cavernous space, and the conveyor belt is joined on either side by stationary platforms. The bodies around me are beginning to climb onto the platforms. I am pulled towards the thought of simply staying on the belt and seeing where it would take me, but a sense of fear directs me to follow what the others are doing.

I clamber onto the platform awkwardly, still not used to the ways that my limbs move. I am met when I stand up by a pretty young woman in a white coat. She introduces herself, but I am unable to catch her name. I am lost in her eyes, ones that flit between shades of blue and green, glowing in much the same way as the light coming from the tunnel. She holds somewhat of an ethereal presence, and I momentarily forget all of my functions.

“Does that make sense?” She asks. “Yes” I reply, having heard and understood nothing.

She directs me to a capsule and directs me to step in, which I do unquestioningly. She takes my arm and pulls out a syringe filled with clear liquid. “It’s for preservation”, she says. Preservation of what? By the time I’ve formed the question, she has already injected it into me. Searing pain shoots up my arm. Excruciating pain, something I’ve never felt before. I reach out to her, doubled over, in need of some semblance of support, but she takes a step back out of my reach. I am unable to move, or speak, or think, the fire inside my arm continues to expand, first attacking my bones, and then pulsating viscerally, until I have been reduced to nothing.

At the same time, the formaldehydes and opiates in the syrup she injected into my veins take hold of my body, locking it up. I can’t tell whether I’m passing out due to the drugs or the pain. In my final moments of consciousness, I look up, to experience another human, to find some solace in this experience. With my eyelids closing, I look to the woman, hoping that she will tell me that everything will be okay. However, when I finally bring my eyes to where she is standing, I see she is gone, leaving me to die alone.

My fellow bodies and I will be shipped to a variety of places, from use in science sectors as human lab rats to use in military pursuits as soldiers to be bullet sponges. I personally will be auctioned to the highest bidder for whatever they will use me for. Either I will end up a secretary or a sex doll, very likely both. After all, what is a body for?