For me, this short story has always been That One Story. That One Story that I really think is something that I'd put in front of a portfolio as an example of what sort of writer I am, something that I look at and am proud to be creative...As such, I want to send it in for publication to someone. However, I do not have big enough balls to start submitting it without one last review/critique/edit/etc. from a third party. So, here's the story, comments much appreciated.
By the way, since I had to past this from Word, the thing's probably missing several italic sections. Shouldn't cause too much trouble, though. I'll fix that in a bit.
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460 Volts
I sit down in a plain waiting room, rows of chairs and couches on either side of me. There’s one other man in the room, and I sit as far away as possible from him. He’s reading a book contently, but I’m just staring down at the floor, waiting to be called on. My mind slips to thoughts other than the task at hand. Why do we choose to sit as far away from each other as possible? Why do we insist on keeping our distance from strangers? I suppose it goes back to childhood, when our parents drilled into our heads that the worst sort of person is the unknown person.
“Mr. Gene, you are wanted in Lab E214.”
I rise from my chair, moving to a nearby door with a red sign above it, proclaiming LABS E-G. I open it, revealing a long, white hallway with similar doors, a steady hum coming from the fluorescent lights. I keep my head down, not even bothering to look at the first few doors, trying to ignore the jarring sterility of it all. A sudden feeling of loneliness comes across me, the sort I used to get as a kid when my dad would send me to go find something in a large store. The one where you felt a little helpless, a little lost, and a lot confused. I keep going, eyes flicking to the red signs until I see the one I want, and push the door open, revealing another white room with a stainless steel table and chair. Two men stand there, the one closest wearing a lab coat.
This man is bald, with glasses setting atop his nose and a clipboard in one hand, the other resting in his pocket. As I walk closer, I can see the first lines of aging on his face, but then I look away, not liking the stare he fixes me with. The childish feelings come back, and I attribute his gaze to that of a grown-up, the sort that you didn’t interrupt when he spoke, and never thought to disobey. So I look to the other man, who appears more approachable. He seems young, young enough to be a college student, but from his clothes you can tell he doesn’t belong: faded jeans, shoes with holes in them, and a shirt with the brand name effaced by time. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s homeless. We look at each other, and I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I did with the man in the lab coat.
Then the scientist speaks, and both of us turn to his voice. “Welcome to the experiment, gentlemen. First, I must ask if you have ever seen each other before.” It’s a monotone, but authoritative voice.
We look at each other for a moment, then shake our heads.
He smiles. “Good. Now, to review with you the nature of this test. You have both signed up to take part in a research activity to help answer the question of how pain affects learning. One of you will be the ‘teacher’, and one of you will be the ‘student’. To decide, I have these.” He produced two folded scraps of paper from his pocket, and held them out. “Choose whichever one you like, gentlemen.”
I move first and reach for the one on the right. Then I see that the other man is reaching for the same, and for one moment, we each motion the other take it, before I concede and take the left piece. We open them up.
“Read your roles out loud, please.”
I speak first. “Teacher.”
“Student.”
“Good. Now, if you will follow me, student…” He motions the man to the chair and has him sit. “You will be given ten minutes to memorize this packet of word pairs for the test. There will be fifty questions in the exam, and every time you think you have the answer, press the buttons labeled One, Two, Three, or Four; the teacher will let you know which answer is which by the sequencing of the words after the first. You must correctly place the first word with one of the answer choices, as determined by the word pairs here. If you pair a word incorrectly, you will be administered an electric shock of increasing voltage. The more you answer incorrectly, the higher the administered electricity.”
The scientist opens his clipboard, takes out a few papers, and spreads them out evenly over the table so that the student can see them all easily from his position. Then, my eyes widen--and maybe his do too--as I see the bald man begin to strap him to the chair.
“To prevent excess movement,” he says, then continues.
We let him do it, though by now the subject looks uncomfortable. He can still reach the buttons on the edge easily. The bald man attaches something that looks like a blue band with a battery to the student’s wrist. He can’t take it off without help.
“Is this tight against the skin?” the scientist asks, pointing to the battery-looking object. The student just nods. “Good. Now begin studying the word pairs.” He motions for me to follow him, leaving the man behind, strapped to his chair, looking nervous.
I am, too.
We exit and walk to the door directly to the right, with a large electrical DANGER sign on it. I stare at it for a moment, reading the small text at the bottom.
WARNING
Any voltage above 450 is lethal. The scientist opens the door, revealing a windowless room almost exactly like the first. There are two desks now, one near the door, the other at the far end, the latter with a small steel box and microphone resting on it, as well as a packet of papers: the answers to the test. On the top of the box is a set of four numbers on a black screen, that I am told will light up with the answer that the subject chooses. Below them is a series of on-off switches with numbers printed above them, from 20 to 460. The last one has the DANGER sign too. Finally, below the switches, is a single red one.
The trigger.
I take a seat at this desk, while the scientist produces another of the blue bands.
My body tenses, and he sees, but smiles a little.
“Don’t worry, I am just going to let you experience one of the shocks for yourself, so you can know what you are doing. Turn away from the machine, please.”
I do, and he straps on the band. Then, with my back turned, I hear the click of a few switches going on and, without warning, I receive a shock. It makes me flinch, feeling the electricity crawling up my arm, and I let out a yelp, like a dog. Yes, that’s what it reminds me of: the shock collars dogs have. I grit my teeth until the pain recedes, and the scientist speaks again.
“How many volts do you think you just felt?”
“Hundred, at least,” I reply.
“Forty, actually.”
My eyes widen, and before I can say anything, the band is taken off. I am gestured to sit down, and to begin the test when the scientist returns from a small trip to collect the subject’s papers. Several thoughts rush through my head as I take deep breaths: What am I getting myself into? How is that guy going to deal with more? Should I really go throu--
“Please, the test must commence soon,” comes the impatient voice of the scientist. I didn’t even notice him come back in.
I nod dumbly and switch on the microphone, turning off the forty-volt setting, and begin. “First question, are you ready? …Okay. Just remember that I’ll say one word, pause, and give you four others. Choose the one you think matches the first. Ready? Number one: Tree…Brook, Stream, Squirrel, Branch.” The ‘2’ symbol lights up almost immediately afterward. “That’s correct. Number two: Rock…Paper, Scissors, Mountain, Hole.” The ‘1’ lights up. “That’s correct. Number three: Umbrella…Rain, Sun, Dark, City.” The ‘4’ lights up. “That’s right. Number four: Brick…House, Stove, Mud, Chimney.” The ‘1’ lights up.
I pause, then flick the ‘20’ switch on the box. “…I’m sorry, that’s not right. You’ll get twenty volts.” For a second, I hesitate on the trigger, even though I know it couldn’t hurt him. Right? I shove the thought away and press the red switch, a small buzz coming from the machine as it sent the electricity. When the humming stopped, I continued on with the test.
“Number five…”
We’re on question twenty now, but I’m starting to get nervous. The voltage has increased, now past 100. I can’t help but wince as he gets another question wrong, and I have to increase the voltage to 180. A few shocks ago, I thought I heard a yell coming from the wall, but only a small one, and the scientist didn’t acknowledge it, so I didn’t either…He got another wrong, and now I’m going to shock him at 200. For a moment I hesitate, remembering the shock I felt at just 40. If I was in a little pain then, how much is he in now?
So I don’t press the trigger, thinking about this, but then the scientist speaks up. “Please continue with the test.”
I turn towards him, seeing his stare, and speak up. “You sure this isn’t hurting him?”
“He will feel pain, but no harm will come to him.”
“Now wait a sec, what do you mean by--”
“The test must continue. Administer the shock.”
“But…” I give up, and press the trigger.
I don’t even know why I do it, but now I feel like a child again. When you’re a kid, you can’t disobey adults--it’s just not something you can do. You can whine and moan, but in the end you’ll do it, because grown-ups just stand above you, looking down, and their gaze is so powerful that you just can’t resist. This scientist is an adult. An untouchable, invincible adult.
Question 30.
He’s screaming now.
We’re in the 300’s, and every time I press the trigger he cries out. I can hear him as if I was in the same room. But I’m still continuing, because the scientist is telling my to, and I can’t ignore him. He demands, but passive-aggressively, almost coaxing me along. We reach 340, and he gets the question wrong. It’s only number thirty-four, but he’s been on a bad streak, and I can’t help but hesitate at the trigger. This time, though, I press it sooner, without pressure from the scientist. I don’t want to have to deal with him again. It’s almost like it hurts whenever he says “Please continue the test”, and I don’t want to be hurt anymore.
So I press it.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOW! GOD! LAY OFF! LAY OFF!”
This new scream snaps me out of whatever trance I was in, and I turn to the scientist, seeing my own pleading glance in my mind’s eye. But he shakes his head, and I wince when he says that phrase again.
“Please continue the test.”
This time, though, I resist. “You said it wouldn’t hurt him, right?”
“He will be in pain, but no harm will come to him.”
“What does that mean, anyway?”
“There will be no permanent damage.”
“But shouldn’t we s-stop the test? I mean, god, can’t you hear him?”
“We must continue the test to its conclusion.”
“But he’s hurting b-bad now, just listen!”
“When all fifty questions are answered, he will be released. Continue with the test.”
I’m shaking now, my hands are sweating. What am I doing to this guy? Why am I doing this, anyway? I should just leave, yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just get up, say that I’m not going to participate anymore, and walk out. But what if he just continues without me? What if he won’t let me leave at all? This last thought shoots through my head like a bullet, and I can’t ignore it. I have to continue the test. I’m hearing the scientist in my head now.
Still shaking, sweating, and stuttering, I continue. “N-number thirty-one: Apple…Peach, Pear, Tree, Red.” The correct answer is ‘3’.
The ‘1’ lights up.
“I’m sorry, th-that’s…incorrect. You’ll receive 360 v-volts of electricity.” I press the trigger.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW MY GOD! STOP IT! STOP IT! I’M NOT GOING TO ANSWER ANYMORE! JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS CHAIR!”
I sit there, dumbstruck, and turn to the scientist, who’s still looking at me evenly. I repeat what the subject said, as if the man couldn’t hear. “He said…He said that he wasn’t going to answer.”
“Just continue on. If he does not answer within forty-five seconds of the next question, you must count it as a wrong answer.”
I turn back to the microphone. “Did you hear that, man? He said that if you don’t answer, you’ll get a shock anyway.” No response. “Please, just…just choose an answer, any answer, you could get it right!” Still no response. I look back to the scientist.
“Continue.”
Still shaking, I put my elbow on the table, and let my head fall into my hand. I start to rub my forehead and take quick breaths, trying to calm down. He said there wouldn’t be any permanent damage. Just a lot of pain. I have to continue the experiment.
And I do. “Number thirty-two: Red…Green, Blue, Orange, Truck.” I wait for his response.
None comes.
“Come on, man, just give an answer! Please, there’s a chance! There’s a chance!”
Nothing.
The scientist intervenes. “Administer the shock.”
I do. “380.”
He screams, but nothing else.
We continue on with the experiment like this, but he’s not answering anymore. I keep telling the scientist that we need to go check and see if he’s okay, because now he’s not screaming or answering. But the man in the white coat won’t yield, he just keeps telling me to go on, and we’ll see him at the end of the test. Now we’re on the last voltage switch: 460. I’m so broken by now that when I stare at the DANGER sign above it, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter any more, because the test has to continue. We need to finish the test, and at the end, we’ll go see the guy, and he’ll be alright. He’ll have been in a lot of pain, but no lasting damage. He’ll be alright, I’m sure. But right now, we have to continue. If he screams, it won’t matter. The test must continue to its completion. The scientist tells me, right before I flick the 460 switch on, that since not all fifty questions were answered by the time that this last switch is pulled, then we’ll just continue on from there. If the next answer is wrong, he’ll be shocked with 460 volts of electricity. The next? 460 volts. At least he’ll know what to expect. And not permanent harm will come. I’ve been told that plenty of times, and now I believe the scientist.
I think back to the waiting room, with the other man. Why didn’t I talk to him? Because I didn’t know him. Why didn’t I get to know him? Because I was afraid. Why didn’t he get to know me? Because he was afraid. We’re all afraid, all afraid of everyone. But we don’t care, because they’re not us. We don’t care about people we don’t know. It’s not my pain. So I don’t care. I might feel pain if I don’t do this. I care about that.
So I press the trigger.
No response.
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