Chapter 8 - Generation Freakshow

     Xavier turned the key and locked the door behind him.

He'd always had an interest in science. While his brother, Blake, had always been more of a writer " exceeding in subjects like English and History " Xavier had been more curious as to how things worked as oppose to writing about them. His left-handedness only enhanced this yearning to put down the pen and pick up the safety goggles.

His career as a scientist had followed on nicely. He felt as if exams hadn't been a true indication of his knowledge; maybe he couldn't 'evaluate whether poly(ethene) is a good choice of material for a shopping bag', but he could perform experiments better than anyone else in his class. When it came to practicals, he'd get top marks every time.

His interest had first sparked like a firework for physics. The ability to explain things that went on around him made him feel superior, and he liked that very much. However, later on in his life he swerved to the opposite side of the road; the appeal of biology being the idea of changing the rules. Genetic engineering, modifying a species, natural selection taking place, evolution... the whole idea of a stronger race by whatever means caught his eye.

Now he considered himself to be the best scientist in the world. Screw his humiliating D-grades from his past " he now knew that they were irrelevant. Just scars he could cover up with clothes.

The worst part was: no one else knew about his achievements. He would never be able to share them. Most likely he would be awarded a Nobel Prize and then boxed off to a prison cell like an angry circus animal if he did.

What amazed him was that nearly 16 years after his amazing discovery had passed, and he still had no competition. Even after all those years, no other scientist had come close to doing what he did.

He remembered back to when he did it. He did some awful things in order to get it done, that he wasn't proud of at all. But, it had been worth it. And he was still a good man, as what he had done had saved lives. If only what he'd done had been legal, and the world had been able to accept it. He could have saved millions.

It hadn't occurred to him that no one wanted to be saved that way.

Either way, if what he'd done then hadn't been criminal, what he was doing now definitely was. He turned around to face his victim. His scar of deleteriousness. He remembered back to his High School years when his teacher had given him a certificate for a 'perfect dissection' of a lamb's heart. He pushed his goggles to the top of his nose, a typical mad-scientist grin gleaming between his cheeks. Feeling like a lanky adolescent all over again, he got to work.

He checked one last time over his shoulder, to ensure that the door to his private laboratory was definitely securely shut.

He couldn't have anyone going in there.

Not even her.

April had changed. A few months had passed since she'd found out the secret. Her mother still had no idea she knew. But now, instead of being frightened, she was more amused at how her mother lied to her. Between them, her and Gemma had discovered all sorts of things that neither of them had known before.

On that first day, April had taken the news badly. She'd had a million questions and had gotten worked up when Gemma hadn't provided her with the answers she wanted. She'd cursed and shouted and sworn at Gemma, then gone home to curse and shout and swear some more. This had all been between the tears.

She'd even considered letting the glass back in again. It had tapped temptingly on the front door all night. Tap, tap, tap. She'd been able to feel it lying there, untouched, outside. It seemed so easy to just go out and get it, go through it all again...

But the scars from last time had stopped her. They would never properly heal, and they were ugly. They would get her attention if anyone saw them which luckily no one had yet, and attention was the last thing she wanted.

Gradually, despite their rocky-road start, Gemma and April had become friends. They were an odd combination, and they had been questioned countless times about their identical appearances. Their cover had been: 'We're cousins, but we just look even more similar because we have the same hair.' People seemed to have accepted that by now.

April's entire personality had changed. More importantly " she now had a personality. A girl cursed to silence her whole life is hard to get to know. But now she could speak, she'd discovered a lot about herself. The type of things she said were interesting to her because she'd never said them before. The softness of her own voice surprised her every time she spoke.

With words she also found confidence. Not a lot, but enough to not hide any more. For the first time in her life she felt as if the shadows were welcoming her as oppose to creeping up behind her. She didn't have to be reclusive any longer. She no longer had to submissively obey her parent's orders and be constantly seeking solitude, constantly isolating herself from others.

But it wasn't just her personality that had changed.

April didn't look well. Defying the expectations surrounding the relationship between feeling better and looking better, if possible, she was getting paler. Her crisp winter skin " now as white as the pages in her exercise book with no exaggeration " looked purely sickening. She'd lost weight that she hadn't had to begin with. Her wrists were no more than con caved twigs which flopped from the ends of her arms.

And her veins had gotten deeper.

This effect had terrified her the most. Watching her eyes cower deeper into their sockets had been one thing. Feeling as if she could faint at any time had been another. But, looking in the mirror and noticing deep blue lines edging further down her body like a spider's web had been the worst.

Her wrist seemed to be the power source of the veins. It looked like a painful blue bruise all the way round the bone. Up the rest of her, a child had tried to colour her in using a plain navy marker pen.

She felt like a vampire. She'd taken to skipping P.E because she just couldn't face the questions, and most of the time she felt too weak to participate anyway. She felt like it may be something serious. She felt like her thoughts were being sucked from her by a hover.

For the first time in her life, she felt like her life was Technicolor, with her new found voice. But, there was a force on the other side. Before she'd known, her life had been grey-scale purely because nothing had kept it from being that way. But now, now there was something, so it should be fine. But it wasn't. Something had changed, and now what had before been empty greyness had converted to an active power draining the colour from her, like what had happened to her eyes. Something was purposely disagreeing that hadn't been before. She felt as if she was 2-dimensional in a 3D world.

It felt like her 'essence' was running out. She was a sand-timer, and her time was nearly up. She felt like the components that made up her body were getting old and tired of their functions so they were simply giving up. She felt like each chromosome inside her was being attacked and killed off one by one, leaving her cells confused and in mourning. She couldn't remember the last time she had energy.

Sleep.

She could feel it there all the time, threatening to take over should she move too much or think too hard. She could feel herself slipping into it when she closed her eyes for even a second. She could always feel its presence; hypnotising her, luring her in, capturing her...

The aberration of her body had started to drown her. She felt like she'd abated dramatically in the last few weeks. She felt like if this continued she would soon simply blow away.

She'd found out a lot since her first conversation with Gemma. She knew the story well and had played it over in her head an uncountable amount of times, yet the details continued to cheat her.

Gemma's knowledge was limited to code names, the idea, and the effects. It lacked in very important things: facts, causes, reasons, specifics, places, times and names. But with their combined knowledge, they had managed to piece together a half complete jigsaw. The only missing parts were ones that would be much harder to obtain.

Who were they clones of? That was the biggest question on April's mind. Who was the original? And why had she been cloned? Was she still alive? Jim and Sue " Gemma's adoptive parents " had told her everything they knew. So they said. But secretly, April didn't believe that. She knew there must be something else. Some clue, some lead, some thread that would help them get answers.

They deserved that much.

The tattoo had been the original's. She'd had that tattoo and, by some error copying the gene, it had imprinted on each of the clones.

The scars on her chest weren't from a heart operation. That much was obvious. They'd been from the modification process.

The three babies, including herself, had originally been very different. Gemma had been a brunette baby. April had apparently been blonde. That had been hard to believe. However that man " whoever he was " cloned them, they weren't born as clones. They were born as regular babies and had been completely changed after birth. He'd replaced their genes with another girl's, and almost grown them into new children. According to Gemma, it had taken them just over a week to be completely changed. In just one week they had grown into different people.

Knowing this wasn't enough. If someone had cloned her, she wanted to know all about it. Not just random handfuls of mismatched information.

So she would leave tonight.

By tonight, she would be on her way to discovering more about her condition. She would find the scientist that saved her, and she would question him like a criminal. She would interrogate him like a suspect. She would find out. By tonight, she would be well on her way.

Gone.

She had it all planned out. First she would catch the bus back to her old school " Greendale " which was near to the station. She would then find her way to him from there. An address would have been handy, but she was a smart girl.

She'd figure something out.

As she wondered out of the school up to the bus station after lessons had finished, she found herself being followed.

“Gemma, what are you doing?”

“Just checking you're okay, Grumpy. You ran off so quickly just then I thought something might be up. Where are you going?”

“Just...” April paused, running through the lie in her head before allowing it to run wild from her mouth. “Waiting for my mum as usual, but she's in a rush so she said she'd pick me up down this road instead " it's more in the right direction " and for me to hurry.”

Gemma processed this, then decided it wasn't acceptable.

“I may not have known you for long 5003, but I like to think that I know you better than that. You can't fool me. You're not meeting your parents, are you? So who are you meeting?”

April's face flushed. She'd always been quite a good liar. How had Gemma been able to tell?

Gemma's eyes lit up. “April May, are you meeting a boy?” she teased, whilst playfully punching April in the shoulder in a light-hearted manner.

“No, of course not. I just have somewhere to be.” April replied vaguely.

“Well, if you're not meeting a boy, you won't mind me coming with you?” Gemma ventured.

“Yes actually, I do mind.” was the blunt response Gemma received. April's bus pulled up in front of her. She was getting nervous; she'd never gone anywhere on her own before. As she stepped onto the vehicle and found herself pushing a few coins across to the driver, she realised Gemma had followed her on. April turned around and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing, Gemma?”

“You're forgetting one key thing, April. We're the same person. Practically. I know when you're lying, because I lie in the exact same way.” Gemma paused for a moment while she parked herself on the seat next to April. “You're up to something, and I don't even need three tries to guess what. You can't do this without me, April. I'm a clone too.”

And then, she announced her final statement with a tone of sincereness. She tenaciously declared:

“April May, I'm coming with you.”

The two girls " identical concerning inherited factors, their only differences being ones influenced by the different environments they'd grown up in " thanked the bus driver. They began to tackle the familiarly endless road April had walked up countless times when she used to be able to walk to and from school. They did so in silence, not because they had nothing interesting to say but because they were both lost in thought.

April never thought she’d miss her old school. However, as she neared it, the familiar sights that dangled tediously in front of her eyes tugged on her heart strings like a harp player. After spending a little over four years there and being certain it was hell in disguise, she was disgusted that she had gotten intrigued about it once more.

She guessed it just felt good to be somewhere she recognised. She’d got into such a knuckle-tight routine over the years, having it all changed so suddenly had been vigorous. She wasn’t saying that she would want to go back, but she missed having something to look forward to. She missed pleading routinely that she could be elsewhere. Now she was elsewhere, and it was great. She had Gemma who she loved like a sister. She had other friends too. Her teachers liked her. She was enjoying her chance at being a normal girl living a normal life. She still was far from the girls she’d always described as normal " the brown or blonde hair, the gum, the obsession with pop music, the bored expression, the boyfriends, the high skirts " but she’d discovered that in her new school, she didn’t have to be.

Ironically, the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her had made her more normal.

Everyone has their stuff. People say things like ‘it’s not too bad’ and ‘at least you’re not starving in Africa’ which April found useless. Because everyone has their stuff. For example, the luckiest girl in the world could be devastated that her iPhone ran out of battery. Someone could cry at the fact that they’ve had an argument with a friend. Whereas, in another part of the world, someone could be crying because their child has starved to death. But people can’t relate to that. They can’t compare with that, because they don’t know what it’s like. You can’t blame someone for crying at the worst thing that has ever happened to them, no matter what it is. No matter what the cause, people create an order of which they base their emotions on, according to their own past experiences. And if nothing too bad has ever happened before, you can’t judge them for being mad if something pitifully uneventful has broken their scale.

That was April’s theory, which worked out well for her. All her years of torture at that school, and finding out something so life-changing had definitely hardened her scale up a lot. That way, she wasn’t upset by the little things. Because the big things no longer bothered her either " she’d long gotten used to them " she found herself really enjoying her life. Being so upset and alone for years had made every other feeling feel better.

“Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed, as she hastily apologised after bumping into a pair of sunglasses. Oh wait " there was a girl inside them.

Neither wanting to do that awkward ‘both-go-to-the-left, both-go-to-the-right’ dance, they stood and stared at one another. The girl removed her expensive tortoiseshells that appeared to be wearing her as oppose to the other way around, to reveal a pair of determined blue eyes. A pair of extremely familiar determined blue eyes.

Mia Day. Notorious Mia Day. Notorious Mia Day with her prominent pout. All at once, April’s flicker of missing Greendale was safely put out, never to be relit.

How she hated Mia Day.

She’d never been able to feel hatred before, and it shocked her that she could now. She’d never previously been able to admit to herself that she hated someone without feeling ridiculously guilty and withdrawing her statement before. It stunned her that she was able to do so now.

She could still hear Mia’s laugh. Her sneers. Her jaunts and taunts and teases. She could still picture her smile, saving her from trouble whenever commanded to do so. She could still see her strung over Jake, those berry lips of hers curved around his, the intimacy of her provocative posture towards him, how she’d captured him with that same pair of determined blue eyes…

     “April!” Mia cried, not attempting to hide her astonishment.

Mia was fashioning a pair of shiny gold hoop earrings that were large enough toss as Frisbees. April could see a distorted version of her reflection inside them. She imagined them to be the stolen halos of baby angels, nearly reaching Mia’s shoulders. These shoulders were bare apart from a lacy black bra strap and the centimetre-wide sleeves growing from the low cut camisole she had chosen as what only just counted as a top. Below this rested a pair of patterned leggings consisting of some sort of tribal print, which ended just above Mia’s ankles leaving room for the orange, beaded anklet at the end of Mia’s legs which weren’t a too dissimilar colour. To conclude the outfit which had no doubt been carefully selected and considered in greater detail than could ever be necessary, Mia’s feet were dressed casually " modelling a pair of white Converse (the pumps as oppose to high-tops) with the laces secretly tucked behind the shoe.

It amused April how Mia had dressed as if she were walking through a gorgeous beach surrounded by a long stretch of turquoise water - the colours of the Mediterranean ocean - with the sun creating crystals in the sand beneath the waves, as oppose to merely down a road as boring as bland tea, and in winter. It was near the end of winter, but this did not justify her lack of sleeves.

"There's...two of you?" Mia questioned, her voice adopting a slight twinge of an unimpressed drawl.

"We're cousins, but we look even more similar because we have the same hair," the girls chorused, an effect only achievable by rehearsing well. As they'd had plenty of opportunity for this, the harmonious chords of their opposite voices blended together not a millisecond out of time.

Mia's neck retreated: a silent gesture that almost screamed the word 'freaks'.

"She doesn't even own a TV."

April shook her head, as if trying to brush the memory from her back.

April had always been one to follow the rules. And, in her own way, so had Mia. Maybe Mia had never followed the rules set out to her by her teachers or parents, but she had followed the rules of society like they'd been printed in the Bible. She had her own way of doing things that had to be done. If there was a song that HAD to be listened to, Mia would be the first to do so. If there was a top that HAD to be worn, Mia would gladly take-one-for-the-team. And, if there was a boy who simply HAD to be checked out, Mia would be the one doing the honours.

Everyone has their rules.

It just so happened that until now, April's rules had been much more severe " like black boots in the snow " than the other children's.

Now they seemed to be changing. For some reason, now April had broken her rules, Mia seemed to be breaking hers. Mia was talking to her. Mia was engaging in conversation with her. The unlikelihood of this struck April as ironic, as this very conversation had been against both of their rules just a few months ago.

After a little more uncomfortable small-talk between the three girls (two being strangers to each other, two sharing an incredible secret and two having not gotten along for the past four years), Mia eventually turned her pair of determined blue eyes away, and continued her walk to meet Jake by the main shops.

Her iPod earphones were hiding behind her locks, mightily blasting out the song everyone was listening to at the moment " Something Emotional And Dramatic by Some Wannabe In Tight Clothing Who Won X Factor.

Though Mia wasn't listening.

Even though her favourite part was coming up " right after rapping verse when she knew all the words " she couldn't focus.

A horrified expression occupied her face. Her wide eyes were startled, like she'd just spotted an arrow pointing directly between her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that the freaks were far enough down the endless road to not see her.

She leant against a lamppost that stood in her way, and threw up on the street.

She'd never seen anything so disgusting. Even underneath the baggy blazer belonging to McKinley students, Mia had still been able to count the ribs on that child. Each bone of her body had been protruding and visible; poking out at all the wrong angles. April's shoulder blades had looked like the wings of a dead bird, hauntingly broken.

April was anorexic.

Compared to the healthy curves of her cousin it was all the more obvious. April's head had seemed too big for the rest of her body, weighing down her neck. She'd seemed so gaunt. So hollow. So thin.

It had been disgusting to look at. The girl had looked so unhealthy. So unwell. Mia hadn't been able to watch as she'd floated on the pavement like a ghost.

Was she supposed to say something? Was she supposed to get help? Could no one else see it? Was she the only one who could see what had happened to that poor girl?

She could feel the muscles in her stomach churning and tightening as she remembered the skeleton image once more.

She doubted she would ever forget it. 

Clunk.

The train was a complicated mechanism. It chugged mindlessly along the track, carrying varying numbers of passengers to their desired destinations.

The passengers by the window seats watched as an endless pattern of back gardens scrolled across their vision. Each square section of grass was separated by wooden fences that you would image had that soily moist-wood smell gained from leaving the material outside in the rain. Abandoned trampolines lay deserted in the space, crouching lazily upon the lawn. Weeds weaved around the legs of swing sets; reaching, growing, living.

The train grumbled and rumbled past these typical neighbourhood sights, unaware of the marvels it was carrying.

The freaks.

One freak was lost in a deep sleep. She'd always liked sleep. She liked the idea of being dead but without the commitment. It excited her how sleep was like a drug: addictive, hard to get out of, the ability to momentarily forget all problems that may exist in the mortal world and leave them behind in a state of unconsciousness...

The other freak was watching her sleep, being a hopeless insomniac herself. She was starving, she realised, as it dawned on her that she'd forgotten to eat today. She never seemed to feel hungry any more. She couldn't remember the last time she'd craved food. With her newly darker veins, she'd also lost her appetite, it seemed. She hadn't meant to not eat. But there had been other things on her mind.

April watched Gemma sleep, her face blank and thoughtless. It was an empty canvas pleading to be decorated, pleading for emotion. It fixed in a dull expression; just staring from a side view, but understanding like a wallflower.

She watched how Gemma's eye-lashes sheltered her closed lids. They fluttered daintily every so often, like the wings of a dragonfly. They were rainbows; each lash turned upwards into a perfect arch. Arches reminded April of smiles.

April liked smiles very much.

She couldn't see whether or not Gemma was smiling. She hoped so, but she couldn't see because Gemma's lips were hiding behind several strands of misplaced black hair.

Hiding.

April reached out, her spindling fingers all tangled up and entwined around one another like weeds in a wild garden. She straightened them out. She gently brushed the hair from Gemma's skin �" her personalised wrapping paper �" and allowed her unsteady hands to come in contact with Gemma's cheek.

It was like touching her own skin. She ran her razor-sharp nails along Gemma's neckline. She drummed them against the surface of her skin, allowing each one to drop in turn, as if she were playing a beautifully constructed composition on a piano.

Tap, tap, tap.

Gemma wasn't smiling, April could now see, but she wasn't frowning either. Her neutrally-tempered facial features gave no clues away as to what kind of dream Gemma was having at the moment, or whether she would remember it when she woke up...

The piano.

Grand and polished to perfection, it stood proudly upright, displaying itself boldly and with confidence. It would seem intimidating to most, but not to a professional.

She challenged the piano to a melody, and allowed her fingers to dance over the keys like death with a soldier. She played with great passion, and could do so with her eyes shut. Every key begged her to touch it; pleaded her to present it with power. The sound that came out was beautiful, mesmeric, charming, almost hypnotic...

The mood and atmosphere of the tune was fierce, but her fingers so delicate and graceful an element of elegance still remained.
Every so often, her toes tapped the pedal and the sound softened. The connection between her two hands, each on opposite ends of the Grand piano, was the result of years of practice. Just one note of the song was worthy to make anyone believe magic was possible. The way the piece flowed from one note the next like a paper chain was unlike any other pianist could imagine.
Apart from her instrument, the large room she was in was empty. She sat in there alone, her back straight and her arms balanced perfectly. In the lightning, she could be mistaken for a ghost - and felt like one. She allowed the music to sweep through her with ease, barely able to concentrate.
Over the noise of the piano, she heard her name being called. At once, she paused, and froze for a second. Listening closely, she stood up and walked out the room. Her footsteps echoed as she walked away, but after that: silence.
A single piece of dust fell on the polished surface, and the piano was left, as if it had never been touched. It stood there not making a sound for an uncountable amount of years until it was played again, but its favourite tune remained unfinished.

Gemma's tune was never finished.

Gemma woke, startled. They'd been on the train a few hours. .She'd been shattered, and must have fallen asleep.

She'd never had such a vivid dream before. She'd been able to see herself, sat at that piano. She'd been able to hear each notes, from each key, at each second in time...

She'd never liked dreams, even the good ones. They ruined the emptiness of sleep. They ruined the sensation of floating. She didn't like knowing what strange things her mind thought, when her consciousness wasn't there to guide her. All the time, people are trained to think normal, sane thoughts. But in a dream, when you can't control what you think, why does your mind conjure these unexplainable situations? What if she became trapped in a permanent state of dreaming, unable to escape the corners of her imagination that scared her so? What is she were to hit the walls of dreaming, and live on the boundaries of insanity? What if her awareness broke, and she would be stuck in this dystopian alternate reality forever?

She couldn't remember most of the dream she'd just had, but she could remember the feeling of having it. She could remember hearing the tapping of keys, feeling them being pressurised in turn, one after the other.

Tap, tap, tap.