Less Than Human

Based on a true story.

A figure lay, curled up in the dark, listening to the rhythmic sounds of his own heartbeat. A dim red light occasionally made its way to his surroundings, allowing him a moment to test his eyes and be sure that they still worked. There was nothing to look at but his own hand, which he stared at intently in front of his face. If not for the brief intrusions of light, he would have forgotten its form long ago. During one such intrusion, he flexed his fingers gingerly. The action was clumsy and awkward, having seldom been used for so long.

The lights came more often today, tempting him to hope that maybe today would be different. He’d been in this darkness for so long, fed through a chute without ever seeing another human being. He’d begun to wonder if he’d ever come out, if there even was a world outside of what he knew. He had no memories of life anywhere else. He wondered if he should remember something, but hard as he tried he could not. This darkness was all he’d ever known. His life had started here and it would end here.

No! he told himself urgently. There was a world outside, he knew it! There were the lights, and more recently the sounds! Sometimes he heard what sounded like voices, sometimes other sounds, low rumbling sounds. He could hardly tell which were voices and which were not; he’d never used his own voice, he was sure. He had no use for it. His hearing had been getting better though, as had his sight. He could just remember a time when he heard nothing and saw nothing. This improvement gave him hope, something he desperately needed.

Today was special, he could feel it. The voices sounded urgent, and he could feel as well as hear the vibrations of the commotion outside. He was getting out of here. The mere thought sent shivers of excitement up and down his spine. He would see the sun, and breathe the fresh air. He would leave this place and never come back. He would have a home and a family; he would make a life for himself. The time he spent in this darkness would soon be a faint memory, one he intended to forget altogether, in time. In time. All his dreams would mean nothing if he didn’t act soon. Struggling to move, he was hit by the cruel reality that he could not. He was helpless, utterly helpless.

For several hours, or maybe minutes, he wasn’t sure, he listened intently, now displeased with his heartbeat, for it seemed to drown out everything else. A glow of light, greater than any before suddenly lit up the area around him. It did not subside. When he realized this, he frantically tried to look around. The light seemed to be coming from a particular direction this time. He could now hear voices clearly, shouting wildly. A moment later he heard a bloodcurdling scream, and his whole world gave a terrible lurch. Shaking his head to clear it, he was surprised at his ability to move at all. Looking around, he soon realized that one end of the chamber was collapsing, slowly but steadily. In that moment he realized he could not stay here. Shocked at his own sudden strength, he began edging away, toward the source of the light. The process was slow, but he continued, intent on escaping, intent on living the life he so often had dreamed of. He felt a tug, and despaired. He was tethered to the wall, with a thick cord. He had never tried to break it: he had never had a need to, but now he longed to be free of it. In fact, he didn’t even know how long it was, so he was surprised when it allowed him to reach the opening, the source of the light. The cord did not restrain him even as he forced his way out of the opening.

As the tunnel gave way to his desperate bid for freedom, he marveled at how easily it opened in front of him. With the use of his hands limited, he could only push against it with his shoulder, a slow and painful means. He could not see what was behind him, the world of darkness he had known for so long. He gave it no second thought as he heard voices shouting very close nearby. His whole body ached with the effort, but he never considered stopping. The light was simply painful to his weak eyes, and he continued with them clamped tightly shut. The noises hurt his ears as well, but he wouldn’t have stopped them for anything in the world. Soon he would be going home. He could have laughed, but the strain of moving had left him breathless.

A few agonizingly long seconds later, he stuck his head out into the open. The light was brighter than anything he’d ever seen before. The sounds were louder than anything he’d ever heard before. He took his first full breath of air, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. A chorus of voices heralded his arrival, and he was certain he had been spotted. He stopped, consumed by exhaustion. How silly I must look, he thought, with my head the only part of me out. He cried openly with joy as well as the pain flowing through his limbs. For now, he was content to rest and wait to be rescued.

Blinded by the light and blissful at his escape, he never knew what happened next. A figure in a white mask came stealthily up behind him, and pounced, driving a pair of forceps into the back of his head. He shrieked in pain as the forceps opened, tearing open his skull like a melon, split in half. The figure brought a vacuum, specially designed for this purpose, to the hole in the frantic victim, and flipped the switch to its deadly position. His head crumpled like a tin can as its contents traveled out through a plastic tube. His cries stopped as his body went eternally limp. The assailant, satisfied with his work, deftly extracted the body, cut the tether, and stole away with it. It was buried in an unmarked mass grave, and never seen again.

The killer was a civilian, not a soldier, who had been hired to make the kill. Later, as he approached the customer for his pay, she broke down into tears. He sighed. The guilt of causing another human being to die was often overwhelming. She didn’t deserve that pain, he decided as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, it was just a bit of tissue. It wasn’t a person.”

“Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never ask for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
-John Donne, Meditation 17