Down the Rabbit Hole is a new section of The Mirror that showcases student work from across campus. Submissions of all genres are welcome — please send works of 3,000 words or fewer to mirror@thedartmouth.com.
The following is a work of fiction, and contains images and content that may trigger survivors of violence or sexual assault.
Truth is not the repetition of a lie. At least, that’s what you’re told.
You stand waiting for the line to move, but it won’t. It never does. You don’t want to be in the line at all. There’s no gratification once you reach the Satiation Point.
Satiation and Happiness Initiative Two was supposed to be the model of efficiency. They still insist it is. And you believe them, because you’re told to. But a little voice in your head can’t help but feel like waiting in line for two hours to get Satiated is no more efficient than waiting in line for an hour at Initiative One and spending 30 minutes eating. Plus, back then, you got to taste the food. You miss that. They say that it wasn’t good. That taste was an unnecessary, everyday torture. And they made the food especially bad for months before they installed everyone’s Satiation Spots and finished setting up Initiative Two. For most people, it came as a relief. They thanked them for this new technology. But you were a little too old for that trick. You remembered, or thought you did. You could never really tell.
If your memory serves you correctly, before Initiative One, there used to be places you could eat where you would sit down, and they would bring you bread while you waited for food that you actually craved. But they said those never existed. And no one else remembers them. Perhaps they were just one of your dreams.
You always hated dreams. They only served to scare or disappoint. At least you haven’t had The Red Dream in a while. You shudder at the thought but cannot repress the memory.
You’re hiding under a bed, and men with heavy boots come in. A person whose voice you love but can no longer place lets out a scream.
“Just me, please just me. My kid is so young. My darling can be Saved. My child won’t remember any of this. My baby won’t remember me.”
A pause. An incomprehensible mutter. A blast. A face you know to love. And Red, so much Red.
It always seems so real. Like it really happened. But they say no. You grew up in a Development Home like everyone else. They’d get mad when you tried to talk about that woman in your dreams. They would make you do 1,000 Truth is Not repetitions every time you mentioned her name. What was it? Mon? Something like that. You probably shouldn’t bother to remember. She only brought you pain. And you made her up anyway.
The line has moved forward a little bit. You ask the boy in front of you what day it is. It’s hard to tell the days apart. They just blur. Thursday. Damn. You always hated Happiness days. It makes you feel so violated. Being hooked up like that.
Most people love it. Revel in the cheap joy. But it just reminds you of Sam. You try to repress that thought, too. But you can’t, you never can. They always hated that about you.
You remember that day. You and Sam were best friends at the Development Home. You were the two oldest kids. Sam was even older than you. Both of you had dreams. No one else did, or at least they didn’t mention them. The day before you two were going to take the Life Placement test, Sam took your hand under the lunch table. Hand-holding was strictly forbidden. A 10,000 Truth is Not offense. You looked around nervously, but the soft, warm grip tightened, telling you to stop. Sam got up and walked toward the Young Developees room. You knew to follow. Sam opened the door quietly. It was naptime. You stepped in, and the door closed behind you, enveloping you in darkness. Loving hands slipped under your clothing. Sam led you through it all. You hardly knew what was going on, but you had never felt so close to anyone.
You somehow managed not to wake up any of the children, and Sam left to clean up in the bathroom. You walked out of the room a minute later, still in a bit of a beautiful daze, but you were knocked out of it quickly when out of the corner of your eye you recognized the Head Developer walk into the bathroom.
You can still hear the screams. The next few days they interviewed everyone, trying to figure out the co-conspirator. They suspected you, but you were a good liar. You never saw Sam again.
Happiness days were supposed to achieve the same purpose. But that was a lie. Sure, it felt wonderful — they put the best engineers in the Society on the Happiness Development Team. You were one of them before you got kicked off for “Anti-Societal Behavior.”
You were testing the first prototype. No one really knew how it would feel. You were last. Everyone else got off exhausted, dazed and ecstatic with this newfound pleasure. It was your turn. As it was hooked up to you, the cold of the metal made you uncomfortable. Then it began. You were thrown back to that day in the dark with Sam. Except this was very wrong. It wasn’t being gentle. It was too much. Too fast.
You screamed in terror and loss.
It was a violation, you insisted. Sometimes people won’t want it. It would be torture. Just an empty pleasure. There was no emotion in it. They wouldn’t listen. Heresy, they said. And they were right, they always are, but you couldn’t hold your tongue. You knew what it could be. No one else did. And you could never explain it: you’d be Removed.
They loved talking to you about Removal. Ever since you were a child. As early as you can remember at the Development Home. How it meant fear and emptiness and nothingness. Never being Satisfied again. It was funny, though. The more they talked about it, the less bad it seemed. Recently, you’d been tempted.
The line is moving faster now. There is a group of adolescents in front of you. Always easier: smaller stomachs to Satiate and laughably quick Happiness. You pity them. This is all they’ll know. They’ll never know the touch of a warm hand or the taste of bread and butter. You become saddened at the thought.
Perhaps they should pity you.
They’re becoming more and more similar — the kids. The Societal Uniformity Program is working. You miss redheads. Sam had red hair. Blondes will be next. There are only two in the group ahead of you. Both are beautiful.
You sigh, wondering if these kids understand beauty. It’s prohibited to talk about. You’d be Removed if you uttered the word. It was a poison. You doubt many people even know that anymore. So few Developed Generation Ones are left, and the Developers are long gone. Maybe you could call someone beautiful, and no one would be the wiser. You stifle the thought.
It’s your turn now. The Provider hooks up automatically. A long clear tube guided by a metal snake attaches to the Satiation Point on your abdomen. You feel the sensation of your stomach filling from the inside, and it displeases you, as always. The colds straps of the Happiness portion of the machine wrap around your legs and waist. It begins. You resist. You always do, but it’s no use. Your mind is no match for a machine so perfect. The flashback starts. You can usually repress them, but not today.
You’re in the Young Developees room with Sam. You ask, “How? How do you know how to do this?”
Sam pauses, “My parents.”
The word slaps you across the face. You remember two figures dancing with you in the sunlight. Smiles all around. Then the man disappears into darkness, the female bursts into red. You are scared. Sam is holding you. You are shivering.
“They taught me a lot the day before the men came and brought me here. Made me memorize it. Repeat everything back to them, so I’d never forget. Sex. Logic. Love.” The words were familiar, but felt dangerous. Like they had been repressed out of fear.
Sam continues, “I didn’t understand most of it, but I committed it to memory and no amount of Truth is Nots will ever take it away from me.” You nod.
“When I met you, I began to understand. And I knew I had to do this if we were ever to have hope. I’ll teach you everything I memorized, but we need to continue what we were doing now. Is that okay?” You nod and the bliss starts up again.
Next thing you know, the Head Developer is walking into the bathroom. But this time, you can’t help but scream out, “SAM!”
~~~
You awake to find yourself locked to a table in a brightly lit room with dark walls. A Satiation-Only Provider is hooked up to you. A woman walks in. She’s tall, pretty, with light brown skin, brown eyes and brown hair. A perfect product of the Uniformity Project, you think.
“So tell me about Sam.”
“Who?” You respond, still disoriented.
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I went to school with Sam.”
“And what was the nature of your relationship?”
“Friendship.”
“Nothing more?”
“No.”
“You are lying.”
“I know not to lie, ma’am.”
She taps her pin on her clipboard. She flips through a few pages and looks genuinely intrigued. “This wasn’t The Sam? Right? Sam Haverford?”
“What are you talking about? ‘The Sam?’”
“It’s a special case we learn about in training...” She cuts off. Training is a forbidden subject.
You answer her earlier question while she tries to think of a cover-up for her slip.
“Only first names were used in Generation One. Who is Sam Haverford?”
“Forget it.”
“Okay.” You know not to argue.
She looks back at her clipboard. Papers nearly overflow off it. “You’ve quite the file.”
“A product of my age.”
“One of the oldest in Generation One. The first to Experience the Society without knowing the horrors of Before. You paved the way for us.”
You’ve heard this falsely admiring shtick before, “That’s what they tell me.”
“Why did you scream Sam’s name when you were hooked up to the Provider?”
“I wasn’t aware that I did.”
“It says here that a similar incident occurred when you were working on the device in your time with the Happiness Development Team. Can you tell me about it?”
“I would rather not. It was a time when I failed to be a Developed Member of the Society.” After the incident, you were told that this was the case. Over and over again. You believed it to be true, too, for a while.
“Did you and Sam ever engage in... irregular behavior?”
The darkness of the Young Developees room comes to mind.
“No.”
“I don’t believe you are telling the truth.”
“I am.”
There is a long pause. She presses a button on the wall, releasing you from the Provider.
“It is no longer often that this punishment is given, especially to Developed Members, but according to your file, it has received superb Development results, so ten thousand Truth is Nots.” She hands you a pack of chalk and points to the back wall. “I’ll be back when you’re done.”
You begin to write.
(1) Truth is not the repetition of a lie. (2) Truth is not the repetition of a lie. (3) Truth is...
The sound of chalk against the wall is oddly soothing. You are reminded of your first day with Sam. You are both writing furiously on chalkboards, repeating that phrase over and over again. You have never seen Sam before, and keep stealing glances. Suddenly, Sam starts laughing. Uncontrollably. You ask what’s the matter.
“Nothing! It’s just that I get it. I get what they’re doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it. Think. You’ll see.” Sam looks up at the board with a grin, and begins to write again, but stops short to look at you, smile and say, “I’m Sam, by the way.”
(9998) Truth is not the repetition of a lie. (9999) Truth is not the repetition of a lie. (10000) TRUTH IS not the repetition of A LIE.
The woman comes back in and looks at the board. The last lines barely standing out over the thousands of hastily erased ones underneath. Her eyes narrow, she reaches into her waistband and brandishes a gun. She sighs and calmly announces, “It’s time for your Removal.”
You fall to the ground. You feel strangely wrapped in warmth. You smile as you watch the Red surround you as you fall into darkness.
