Chapter 6
Cognitive Convictions
Pesh pulls back a tiny strand of my hair and puts it behind my ear.
He rubs his hand around my temples twice.
He pulls my head back, gripping onto the back of my neck with one hand.
In the process, I see his sun eyes for a nano second.
It’s like a blinding light that sends a shock through me, even from just a blurry glance.
I’m not sure if I’m afraid of getting into trouble for breaking that rule again, even subconsciously.
I hold in a gasp, but it escapes against my will, exposing me.
I look to the floor, trying to quiet my thoughts into a meditative state, but I have a bitter taste of dread in my mouth.
Instead of trying not to think of Levon, I utilize the technique I just learned from The Power of Synthesized Imagination.
I imagine myself to be Levon. I imagine myself as lost. I imagine myself being alone.
I imagine myself to be like her—the subject of someone else’s mind and findings.
And since in real life, that person is me, I have to put myself in a meditative bracket as well.
In my mind, I put myself outside the brackets and replace me.
I repeat this in my head, utilizing the transitive law in geometry: (If A = C and C = B, then B = A. Then, for this Cognitive Test, Me = Commons and Commons = Levon, so Levon = Me).
It’s confusing, but it makes sense to me now. It was all me, she was not a part of me, but she was me; The Commons and Levon—her pain was my pain, her problems were my problems.
I refocus my thoughts.
He lets go of my neck, and I am even more tense, not knowing what he’s done or what that was for. I didn’t see him do that to anyone else. Pesh pulls my chin, forcing me to look up, but I avoid his eyes. “Are you ready to impress me?”
“I didn’t even know you’d remember me.”
“I don’t forget a challenge easily, so don’t fail.”
“I can’t afford to.”
“Good.” Edging up on me, he whispers, “Remember, nothing can control your mind, not even Conzamine.” Before I can nod in response, he begins to call out my code to me.
“05102T2TEINncasdf0731C1C1McIemcIerewq1225o3o3POIUHJ EVITINGOC LAIFLLIWUOY@:?/////YOUWILLFIALCOGFDSACIET2T220511C1C370FD05102T2TEINCASDF0731C1C1MCIEMCIEREWQ 1225O3O3POIUHJ EVI9032.”
“Inhale.” In the same instant, he strikes the needle straight through my temple.
I bite my teeth and instantly feel a fog of dizziness through my frontal lobe.
I am being transported inside the pod; helmet enclosed around my face, my thoughts floating, fighting to enclose itself in a meditative filter bracket.
I see a rectangular spaceship, like a hallway with four-sided panels inscribed on both sides, and white strobe lights that radiate energy.
A circle pendant floats on the ceiling, and I feel my legs pulled in the direction of the pendant.
I look down across it to see I am standing on a bigger pendant with blue lights that seem to analyze the human body from head to toe.
I hear beeps and I watch my reflection dissolving into blue particles that seem to reflect the code Pesh had said to me.
The pendant I am standing on begins to turn me upside down repeatedly, swirling my stomach.
I get it! The faster I face my fears, the faster I can complete this challenge.
I need to get rid of all my fears before I become unconscious!
I have four hours to do it and it will feel like four minutes.
I need to figure out my biggest fears before the machine does this for me.
Quick, what are my fears? This is what I should have been doing yesterday!
I begin to relive my darkest memory.
Fears start flooding my brain and all of them are painful and none of them have to do with Levon.
I allow myself to relive the fear and pain of not being good enough, of not fitting in, of not being close to my parents, everything that my mind feared but my actions refuted as I acted to the contrary.
I let every fear in my mind flow freely, being flushed down into my stomach like a sewage system as I am being twirled in my pod.
Creeeaaakk.
I open the door gingerly, to our minimalist living room in New York four years ago, trying my best to muffle the sound of the door.
I peek in.
Yes! My parents are having their usual discussion on politics and power.
I close the door as quietly as I can and quickly rush to my bedroom determined to lose no time.
Within seconds, I will convince my parents to care about me and start paying attention to Levon and me.
I grab some scissors. I’m terrified of what I am about to do.
I have never done this before. I swallow my spit and my stomach sinks in fear, but I close my eyes and jab the scissors into my hand and begin to scream in agony.
I look at my hand, which has started to bleed, but the wound is not enough, I have to cut myself even more.
Hurry… Cmon… You can do this. You need to do this before they come and know that this isn’t real. I move my arms closer and grab the needle and thread on the floor and begin to carve lines into my skin. The pain is excruciating, and I start screaming.
Bang! I hear the opening of the door behind me. Panicked, I draw more lines, then drop the needle and scissors and begin to cry at the top of my lungs. A split-second later, I look over my shoulder to fall into the arms of my mom or dad, but no. It is neither of them. It is Levon.
Confused, I look at her, screaming my parent’s names. “Mom! Dad! Where’s Mom? Where’s Dad! I want them! I need them!”
“They’re not here.”
“Where did they go? They were just there, in the living room.”
I see her face turn cold and that’s when I know she’s hiding something. “Tell me where they went! Tell me now!”
“Dad had already left. Mom peeked to see you screaming, called an ambulance and left for her press conference. She is very worried! She just said she couldn’t miss it. I’m sorry!”
Shocked, I move away from my sister’s arms, but she tries to hold me close. That can’t be possible. She saw me cutting myself and just left?
Grief stricken, the pain begins to intensify, and I feel my arms begin to shiver.
Levon grabs my hand and gently tries to stop the bleeding with a towel.
She looks at my study table and grabs some bandages I had prepared beforehand as backup.
That is when she sees right through me. That is when she sees I had staged this.
Frozen in time, she stares at me, horror-struck.
Before I can explain, she snaps out of it, hurrying to wrap the bandage around my hand in a haphazard manner.
Later, after getting medical help, I sit frozen in time, staring at the ceiling in a pool of tears that fall on my sister’s arms, meshed with mine.
In the darkness, I whisper to Levon, “I thought if I could get her to notice, I could prove to you that you were wrong about her, I wanted to show you that she cares, but… but—”
“Shh, it’s okay, I know. I know. Are you convinced now?”
“Yeah, I just had to try for myself.”
“And she does care. Just not in the way you want her to. Never do this again, okay? Or I’ll kill you,” she teases, making me smile.
“The pain of death is nothing compared to what I just did to myself! My arms are killing me.” I chuckle in a self-deprecating laugh to cloud the pulsating pain.
She pulls me closer, wrapping her arms around me.
I hated the feeling of pain, the feeling of hurting myself and not taking care of myself. It was that day that I realized why my parents adopted Levon—so we would have each other. Whatever their reason, it was a wonderful thing they did for both of us!
Beep… Beep… As I am relieving these dark memories, the second part of the test begins.
The ring floating device above is pulled down and morphs itself into a drawing screen.
I see the mini-timer on the right-side of my peripheral vision that is set to 4 hours.
This is supposed to feel like 4 minutes, so I am ready to sprint in this mind marathon.
I hear an automated voice whisper in a ghost-like voice, “Write what you are thinking about. Then select an animal icon that represents your train of thoughts. You have one second to answer each question.”
I begin to feel dizzy. I select my answers, urging my pen to pick up on my first instincts.
What makes you feel happy?
I write winning this challenge and match it with a lion icon.
What makes you feel sad?
I put down: not thinking enough about me and I match it with a dolphin.
What makes you feel angry?
I scribble not pleasing myself and I match it with a shark.
What makes you feel pain?
I think losing my vision, but I scrawl: not talking to my parents and I match it with a goldfish.
What makes you feel like it’s all over?
Struggling to push my numb fingers to write, I start to inscribe my answer: Not finding myself and I match it with… (I don’t remember).
I wake up, and it’s all over. I roll over, cheeks pressed on a pillow.
I open one eye and look around. I am in my dorm room.
I’m not quite sure when the Cognitive Test ended or how I got here.
I don’t know what I said—or if I remembered the code.
Did I pass the test? Did I fail? Did they see right through me?
I have no clue.
Zia is stirring in her bed next to mine, shaking and mumbling, “Please, I want to stay. Please don’t kick me out! Please! I love The Commons! This is where I belong! This is where I belong!”
She seems to be having a nightmare. I want to wake her up, but before I can, she jumps up, panting profusely.
“Zia, are you okay?” I ask.
I notice her arms shaking and turning red.
“Don’t come any closer!” she says. Her eyes meet mine, and she charges to the restroom to throw up.