Thursday, September 8, 2318
It’s growing cold outside. If the Earth was alive it would be fall, the season not of dying but of sleep. The massive trees with their crowns of gold and red and amber would be falling soundlessly to the ground. Animals would be burrowing, coats thickening, gathering those last bits of food to sustain them for the long white months ahead.
Birds would fill the sky, flying far to search for warmer thermals. If only I was a bird.
They moved me from the dank room in the bowels of this building to another closer to the room of books they call The Library. It is quite nice truth be told, even nicer than my bedroom in the apartment I shared with my father. Thick blankets coat the soft bed in pretty colors. The walls are washed a pale blue which I like but leaves me wanting a real blue of sky. I have to shake the image of eyes from my thoughts every time I look upon the walls. There is a little metal desk and rolling chair, a shelf of books which I have been told can be exchanged in the library, a small chest for my clothes already filled with the same tight fitting dark material and my little white sack with the things from the Dome.
It feels as thought that was a lifetime ago, the city a million years past and my father’s smiling face has already started to blur in the wash of time.
I haven’t been able to read the books on the shelf, I haven’t been allowed to leave the room (which, thanks to God, has it own nice sized bathroom), no one has visited me.
For nearly a week I have been subjected to a series of tests. Nothing painful, not yet at least but each day those same stoic guards have been leading me each morning to a group of sterile white rooms where they test my abilities. They throw out math questions with little sticky things stuck to my head. Something about my brain waves. They give me logic questions while holding me upsidown strapped to a large board or have me fit together puzzle balls with my hands in a black box I can’t see into. I don’t mind. Mostly because I know we’re getting to the end soon. Mostly because I feel safe doing this, it brings back the memory of my father and the games he would play with me as a child.
My father. They won’t answer my questions about him, the ones I ask between the ones they ask me. The older man that had sat behind the desk, Grifkin is his name, likes to think he is immune to me. He oversees the tests, standing in the rear with his hands clasped behind his back but I see the spark in his eyes when I do well. I see the glimmer when he whispers to the others to make the tests harder. He knew my father, that much I know. And somehow the man I had loved with all my being, who I’ve mourned all these weeks, still mourn for now, was not the person I believed him to be. I feel somewhat betrayed. I wonder if I will ever understand.
As they test me my mind wanders to the package Grifkin had given me. There are several pages written in code and the only photograph I have of my mother and father holding a baby me. They looked so happy standing in front of some building somewhere, I was screaming. Slowly, I’m decoding the letters but I’m taking my time, savoring the words as I know once I read them it will be the last I’ll ever get.
I am gone and for that I am sorry. There is so much I would have told you but you will learn soon enough why I did the things I had to do. I did them for you, my darling daughter, I did them for your mother. I did them for love in a world where love is not prized. Perhaps you will learn about this someday. I wish I would be there to see you fall in love.
There is no point in wishing any longer. Please know you are my heart forever and always even in this place I have gone. Now, there are things I must tell you, things you need to know…
The code is difficult to get through and they test me for so long that, even though I am not physically tired, my mind fumbles over the symbols by the time I am led back to my room. I haven’t seen Tybal and I’m not sure I want to. Though sometimes late at night something inside me feels pulled to him, like an ache I can’t soothe. I don’t understand it, this isn’t something I have been taught about.
But we are getting to the end of the testing, for that I am sure even if they haven’t said it. I think I am doing well but I don’t know for what purpose. I wonder if I should do poorly, if that would be of more benefit for my future but when they ask me I can’t not answer wrong. I have no note to blame this time my damned tongue betrays me.