In my solitude, I am never truly alone. Not-so-subtle cameras line the walls of my cage.  Figures armed with syringes peer at their specimen through thick glass, draped in white, masquerading as innocent. Alongside the red blinking lights, the incessant itch at the back of my skull is always watching. The itch whispers to me, scoffing at my cowardice, mocking me with unspeakable schemes.  

When it laughs, the horrible, grating noise echoes in the chasm of my skull. Warm blood trickles into my hands, their vice-like grip futilely clasped over my ears, while the red eye above does nothing but blink.  

The doctors tell me I’m sick, that I’m locked away for my own good, that I need to be a good girl and endure, that I mustn’t infect my saviors in white. But I’ve been thinking. The cell door is locked from the outside, and everyone has a key but me. How safe am I in my cage, if my greatest threats can walk right in and rattle the bars?  

My condition is deteriorating, and the itch in the back of my brain is demanding me to act. I can’t tell from these thoughts which are my own, and which are not. My eyes are swimming in blood, and the world’s reflection is crimson red. My head is crowded past capacity and it hurts.  

 The voice hisses warnings. It claims they’re slowly poisoning me, eliminating the threat to mankind and giving in to public outrage, after so many months, hours, minutes of involuntary research. For, who really cares about ethics when the lives of your children are at stake?  

If humanity won’t save me, I will save myself. If I’m going to suffer death, it will not be  in chains. The itch mutters fervently, dazzled with the prospect of escape. It tells me that we are one, that it would never abandon me or discard me like trash as the rest of mankind has. It tells me we’re special, that we’re the catalyst for the future. And I’ve always wanted to be special, I think.  

Soon, we will leave this facility and finally breathe fresh air. The sun’s warmth will seep into our skin once again. We were born in the dark, cloaked in shadows. But in our impending freedom, I will ensure that we die in the light.

Isabella Kaufman