Empathy

     Everything is white. White clothes, white lights, authorities wearing white coats, even the walls were painted white. I stared up straight and only looked at the head in front of my own. I stood straight, shoulders back, and that was when I noticed how cold my feet were. My feet were on hard, cold, floor. My hands would not move and the only thing I could do was look forward.
The authorities in the white coats walked up and down the aisles. None of us show any expressions. None of us flinch. I lost count of how many of us there were. Twenty? Forty? Maybe sixty? We were all of different ages and backgrounds. White, Hispanics, African Americans, Asians, and anything else you can think of. The youngest looked about four or five and the oldest about twenty-eight or twenty-nine.
     One of the authorities took my left arm and started to measure it along with my thighs, legs, and head. He took me by the arm and took me out of the line. He told me to get in a new line that was forming in the front. When they were done looking around the room, I gave a quick glance to see whom else they picked. They picked ten of us, again of different backgrounds, ages, and genders. Those who were not picked were dismissed.
     They gave me a new room. I had my own room instead of sleeping with the other girls in the dormitories. In the room there was a twin bed with light sheets, a toilet in the corner, a shelf with three books, and an empty desk. I got on the bed and crawled into a small ball and cried. I missed my family and friends, but I knew they were not coming back.
     I woke up to one of the guards opening the door. He grabbed my arm and took me to a room that had two chairs. One was empty and the other chair across the table was occupied. I was in shock when I looked up to see who it was.
“Mr. Allan?” I asked.
“Hey, kiddo,” he replied.

     Mr. Allan was my English teacher before the attack. In his class there were only thirteen of us, including my friend Jeff. The class was my favorite during the school day and everyone got along. It was one of those memories that you wished could have happened everyday in your life. Mr. Allan was a great teacher, especially since he got me interested in reading and writing. Mr. Allan was not just my teacher; he was my mentor and friend.
     But just before the school year ended, the country was attacked. It was a Saturday afternoon and the bomb killed my family and destroyed the town. The other orphans and I left our town and walked until we could find a town where we could eat and sleep. Sadly, most of us died from starvation and cold within a year. A year after the bombing, they found us and took us to this facility. I had not seen Mr. Allan in almost two years.

     In the room, they always placed me with Mr. Allan. They asked us questions and we wrote our answers on a piece of paper. Mr. Allan and I never talked during these secessions. We just did what were told. We were told to write down our answers over and over again. They were random questions such as “write down a color” or “write down a number” or “write down a date”. It just kept going on and on, but one day they asked me the questions when I was in the room alone. But I somehow knew that Mr. Allan was in the room next to me.
“Where is Matt Allan?” the voice said.
“Next store?” I answered.
“Why do you say that?”
“Just a gut feeling”

     During one of the secession they put wires on our heads and instead of writing the answers on a piece of paper, they wanted us to think it. I thought all my answers to their questions but my hunger sometimes distracted me.
“Are you hungry?” the voice asked and I nodded.
“Take a break,” the voice said and they brought the food in. When the food came in, they escorted Mr. Allan out but I knew he was just going into the next room.
“Hey, kiddo,” I heard Mr. Allan say.
“Mr. Allan?” I asked out loud but he was not around.
“I am not there, kid. I am in your head. That is why we are always together. Do you know what an empathy is?
“No,”
“Scientist believe that that when two people’s bond are strong enough, they can share feelings, experiences, and even thoughts and ideas,”
“Is it true?”
“Well, I’ve been dreaming of your past. Your past must be very strong,” He was right. Every night before going to bed I cried, wishing my family and friends would return.
“You feel sad,” he said.
“Yes. You’re sad too. From you, I am reading that you miss your girlfriend,” I said. There was silence and then the authorities came back in to do more research.
“Mr. Allan, what do these people want with us? Why did they take us? We’re just humans.”
“Power, kiddo. They don’t see us as humans but as monsters. We’re monsters.”
“No, Mr. Allan, they are the monsters.”