The White Complex

Everything changes for 1109853, more commonly known as Christine, when her closest friend discovers cracks in the white complex, a massive living space filled with teenagers without memories. When people start to disappear, to what lengths will Christine take to escape the white?


8. All Hope is Lost

I wake to silence. It's been hard to deal with the utter lack of sound since everyone... Died. It's strange to finally face that fact true and clear. All my friends are dead, I'll never escape this trap and witness a true world filled with the many images and words that fill my mind. This is my reality, and it's time to face it. I pull the sheets and matching white blanket away from my chin and desert my comfortable spot. Standing is a dizzying action and my head still throbs from the deadly pain of the day before. The memories swirls in my head, foggy yet truly clear in its most constants moments. The needle going in, the pain, and Mark, screaming for me. His apology before I relapsed, struggling, into a fitful sleep. It's heart wrenching to think of all that has happened. Somewhere deep inside me I know for normal teenagers, ones who don't live in the white, these events are not normal. They are horrific, terrifying, and scarring; mentally and physically. I think back to the moment the needle slid unfettered through my skin, like a silent and deadly plague. I take a deep breath a move one foot in front of the other. This is a step towards the future, no matter how dim it looks. I take one step after the other, deeply focusing on the way each footfall hits the ground, the sound it makes, where it takes me. That's when I look up to the wide open door in front of me: Mark’s door. There he sits on the edge of a simple bed, unmoving. It scares me for a moment, as I think back to the previous days where he sat silently, neglecting me, but this time it is different. He turns towards me after hearing my loud, final step. Carefully he rises from his post, and as if in slow motion, he moves towards me, walking silently down a path that connects us. He takes my limp shaking hands in his own and begins to speak. “Crissy, I’m not going to lie to you, so I won't say everything is going to be fine.” He says, staring directly into my eyes with his own beautiful dark blue, deep pools.” His hands are sweaty, but I don’t mind. They warm the chill that has been set so deeply and permanently into my skin. I nod slightly in agreement with him, still staring into his face, not so nearly as emotional as before I fell asleep, but still it contains a transparency. His transparency is a beautiful thing. He stands so strong yet can convey himself in a way I’ve never seen before. For the first time in my life I feel as If I can truly know him in his entirety, although he has spoken hardly anything. My eyes well and a single tear rolls down my cheek like a crystal dew drop on an emerald leaf.

His hands slide away from mine and he envelopes me in a warming embrace. It feels amazing to be so close to another human being after so much loneliness and death. I let the embrace go on and I feel his shirt moist with sweat. Still it does not hinder me. I rest my head on his shoulder and let tears run freely. I cry for everyone I once loved and cared for deeply who are now dead and gone. I cry for the memories. I cry for freedom. I cry from the searing pain. I cry in hateful anger towards the people who have contained us here. I cry because I have a shoulder to embrace my head. For the first time in forever I feel right. I let go of everything that hurts and just feel the moment in which I’m living. And it feels good. I lift my head and stare at the beautiful blond head of hair in front of me, perfectly accented by those beautiful deep eyes like a storming sea. But then again, he isn't perfect is he? He's like me, torn apart, scarred, and bruised. No, he'll never be perfect but I can find some comfort in our common experiences. Maybe he feels that too? Mark raises a hand to my face and wipes away a lone tear with his thumb. He rests his lips silently on my forehead and I feel a new wetness there. The tears of another human being now fall freely onto my brow like a fresh rain. I know these tears cannot be branded as one thing. They are tears of joy, tears that embrace the moment in it’s full entirely and it is pure beauty, but they are tears of pain and sadness in remembrance of life itself.

I sit on Mark’s bed next to him, my feet dangling over the edge just as he does. “Are you okay?” He asks, breaking the long, slightly awkward silence.

“No,” I reply, speaking for what seems the first time in forever.

“Neither am I,” He replies shorty, matter of fact in his actions. He pauses and adds, “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” I pause to think for a moment.

“No,” I reply again. “I’ve already come to realize that’s impossible,” he just looks at me, open as a book.

“You’re right you know. I still want to have hope for a future, but I know that fighting only works for so long. It's time to move on,”

“Yes,” I reply softly. “Our life is here, at least for now, and if we happen to get out of here someday, then it's all the better, but-” Mark stops me in midsentance.

“We. You said we,”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“That's all that's left: we,” He clarifies.

“We,” the word tastes strange in my mouth alone, like some new foreign substance. “We need to stick together, you and I. We're all that's left of the white complex, this freakish horror show they stuck us in without asking.” Mark stands and reaches a hand out towards me. "Are you coming?" He asks. I take his hand curiously and we walk from his room, out into the middle of the large commons area. There alone stands a single white, octagonal table in the very center of the room. He steps onto the bench, and takes his post, standing on top of the table. I take his outstretched hand and he helps me climb onto the table with him. “You know, we used to hide in a bathroom to talk, afraid they would hear us,” he says and I nod a reply. “I think it's time they heard our message loud and clear,” with that he began to shout a message that would define our lives forever. “I know you’re there,” he shouts expectantly. “You watch us and listen to us and mess with us. You freaking experimented on us!” He screams, spit flying from his mouth, his eyes directed at the ceiling. “But we're fine I'll have you know! Not in the sense of physicality or mentality, but in the fact that we know our situation and we're gonna just have to put up with it! We are stronger than you ever thought and we will survive, no matter what you put us through!” He pauses and heaves in deep breaths. “We aren't defined by your numbers either. I'll have you know that this young woman is named Christine and I’m Mark. You can contain us but you can't control what we think. You can torture us, but you can't break us. We are all that's left and you can kill us physically and mentally, but you know what? Well still be right here!” At that he takes me in his arms, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and kisses me. It's sweet and soft, yet shouts a cry for freedom with its fervor. For a second I really want to slap this guy, but In my head I simply say "what the heck" ans I wrap my arms around him and return the kiss. At this moment I hope they are watching us intently in awe with their Beady little rodent eyes. Let them watch! I don't care anymore! A boyish grin spreads across his face as we break apart. "Thank you for that Christine. You can hate me later if you want," He drags a hand through his hair, giving a loud whoop. His eyes are like wide pools, spilling to the brim with a new found joy in a terrible situation. For a moment I'm torn. “Why now?” I ask, my voice questioning. He looks down at me and a solemness fills his eyes. “I don't know for sure Crissy. It just felt like life was aweful for a long time and nothing can make it better, but you can! You're a suvivor, just like me, and in that I can feel the same pain as you, push through the terror, and the crud, and this stupid white complex in tandem. You know how I can be. I'm not as bold or brave as you. I'm not as open, or smart or as sensitive as you, but after all this, I feel as if we're the same. With everyone gone I know they're no one to impress but you and that is a terrible but wonderful feeling. You're just amazing Crissy and I can't believe you put up with someone as stupid as me. I just can't believe I just neglected you like that for all those days!.” Mark’s eyes are shining with tears and a flood of emotion washes over me.

“I think there's something different about us since they injected us with that serum. I'm not sure what to be exact, but I think you feel it too,” he nods in agreement and grazes my cheek with fingers. “You are amazing Christine,” at that I break, I sob back the emotions that battle for my head and suddenly fall to my knees, gasping in air. I know all our hope is lost for escaping the white complex after watching everyone we know die. There's no way out. They are always watching. It's impossible, but still, I believe there are more complex things to strive for in life. When everything you've ever cared for is lost and there's no hope of changing your situation, the least you can do is make the best of it and find a new hope. Hope in someone who makes you a better human being. Hope in someone who has felt the same tortures of the cruel side of this world. Although we will forever bear the scars of the white complex, we continue to remain.

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