Victoria Vickers : Box of Souls

Last night, I dreamt that I kept my soul hidden in a small wooden box and at the end of the day, I retreated to my bedroom, pulled out the box from under my bed, and freed my soul, but it wasn't a dream.

Something's changing and it's happening all around us. I pass people on the street. Emptiness etched on their faces and hollowness in their eyes. They look through me-past me-not at me-as if I don't exist-as if I were air. Conversations are brief and topics light and inoffensive.

A few of us saw it coming, but couldn't do anything to stop it. They never even noticed. Hints of it dotted the news, but people didn't pay attention.

My friends and family laughed at me. They told me I was crazy, that our government, the government we elected, would never do such a thing to its citizens. However, one by one, their souls were stolen.

One night the circle of friends-the ones who saw-was broken.

"Aren't you coming tonight?"

"Coming. Coming where?"

"It's girl's night. Remember? You're supposed to bring chips and dip. We're waiting for you," I laughed. "Rachael?"

"Ah, yea, but I'm really tired. I'm going back to bed."

"Rachael! Wait!" I said. My friends watched. No one spoke as I returned the phone to the cradle.

"But we never miss our night," Cindy said.

We looked at each other. I could see the light leaving their eyes. They each had experienced something - they knew it was only going to get worse.

Everyone walks around with automatic precision. Their memories wiped clean every few hours as if someone has taken and ripped the page from their notebook-brain and thrown it away. The topics of conversation over coffee are health problems and the medications their doctors prescribe. Tears don't flow. Laughter doesn't fill a room. Anger doesn't explode. Emotionless. Easy to control. Crime is nonexistent.

Last night, I dreamt I came home from work and stood in front of the mirror. I stared at my reflection. I was faceless and my hair was steel grey - bland and lifeless. I pulled the jacket zipper down and pulled each side of the coat apart revealing a cavity filled with light. My soul stepped back into my body. I stretched and groaned-a sense of freedom filled me.

I turned out the lights. I walked around the apartment and secured my blinds. I watched the street through the blinds. Nurses wearing black overcoats knocked on doors.

Only a few of us are left. We call ourselves the Awakened. We can't do anything about it. Now, the drug is in our water and in our food. We can't escape it. I've tried running to the country and to the smallest communities but they're all the same. Fellow citizens walking around like zombies taking orders from messages on the television and the radio. It's like watching a scene from a science fiction movie. Everyone walks past each other with vacant calmness and insincere politeness. There isn't a care in the world. They smile but not wide happy smiles, but short dead ones. They pass each other with faint familiarity. A glimmer of recognition yet they are subdued.

My sister Amy's cat died-her cat of sixteen years-she didn't shed a tear. Her lack of emotion at the loss sent chills up my spine. She stopped singing and laughing. She didn't look at me, but through me. Her blue eyes turned black and her pink skin grey.

"Aren't you sad?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "It's a fact of life-things die. So what. I'll get another."

We still meet once a week but no more card games. We drink coffee made with filtered water-filtered a dozen times.

When we meet, we sit arms length to each other and dim the lights. We're afraid of meeting in public. Paranoia is escalating among us.

I knew my soul would leave me if the water affected her but she hasn't. We are immune. Would my body eventually give in? Some days I wished it would take me over. Maybe it would relieve the feeling of loneliness living among these hollow shells. They still celebrate holidays and birthdays, but without joyous sentiment. They go to work as they always did but don't complain. Everyone is so compliant.

The members of the Awakened all work for different companies. We seldom cross paths in public and if we do , we don't exhibit any recognition for each other. We heard that new laboratories were set up to investigate citizens not affected by this process. Our imaginations run wild. The scariest of horror movies with the maddest of scientists have been the latest topic of discussion.

We heard that Rachel died. We were the only people at her cremation. How long can we exist like this. I don't know. The fear is consuming. I wear the same style clothes every day. A pin sticks me through my bra strap to remind me. Pretending is exhausting. My soul is tired.

I watched my soul relax and climb back into her protective sanctuary. She is safe there.

She is free of chemicals. She is free from the forces trying to change our society. How I've managed to retain my sanity, my individuality is still a mystery to my few friends and me. We face each day with fear and each day as if it is our last. We are four - the Awakened - the ones that see.

They're winning. Soon the entire world will be at the mercy of their governments: governments in partnership with big pharma, an orderly planet with no more terrorists, no dysfunctional families, no activists, no hatred, no lawbreakers, no passion...and no freedom.

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