The Wall

(IN PROGRESS) What if art was seen as harmful and dangerous? In a world where logic is the purpose of life, society represses creativity and most forms of art. This is Molly's story.

Chapter 1

“It's just wrong Molly!”

I looked down, messing with the pale seam of my shirt. I knew that she was right of course, and I was ashamed. But I never meant for it to happen.

“Why would you do that to yourself? To your mom, your brother, to me? Don't you care about us?” she said, close to tears. “We don't want to see you ruin yourself. You're throwing your whole life away.”

I tried to swallow the ball that rose in my throat. I wished I could sink down through the floor and disappear. She was the last person I wanted to disappoint. We sat facing each other, our chairs bolted to the hard laminate floor. “I didn't mean to Sarah,” I mumbled. “I've never done something like this before, it just... happened.”

She shook her head, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. The empty, dimly-lit grey room somehow made her look more distraught. I tried to find something else to look at, but there wasn't a single crack or crevice in the entire foundation of the room. I was encased in a smooth, grey box, with nothing but my friend to hold my attention. I was forced to look at her.

“No Molly. Drawings don't just happen. You of all people should know better. You're so intelligent, what could have possibly driven you to do something so foolish?”

I tensed, the word sparking my desperation. “Nothing Sarah! I don't care about that! I want to study law, that's all I want! Please, I'm begging you to understand. It's not what everybody thinks at all!”

“I saw the picture, idiot! It sure didn't look like nothing,” she accused. “It looked like a blatant disregard for everything you've worked for. Everything your parents have worked for. Everything... that we've worked for, together.” She leaned forward and took my hands into hers, her eyes boring into mine. “We've been friends since we were five. I know you better than anyone. I know you're better than this. And I know you've got a bright future ahead of you. But you really messed up this time.”

My eyes watered and I squeezed her hands. “I know,” I choked. “I never meant for this to happen, really I didn't. I'd never betray you, or society, ever.”

Sarah sighed and looked down. “I know that. And honestly, the last thing I want is to make you feel worse about it,” she mumbled. “But it's going to be really difficult for you to talk your way out of this one.”

I knew she was right. I have always been good with words, but this was no common offense. No textbook could ever prepare me for a situation like this. If the principal decided to involve the battalion, my career would be ruined. The mere thought of losing my mentality churned my stomach, and I couldn't hold back the tears. I hung my head in shame as they spilled over.

Sarah stood from her chair and leaned in to hug me, holding me as I let myself cry. “It'll be okay, Mol,” she said softly. “This will all be sorted out. You're not a reject, surely they'll see that. We're still going to graduate together. This won't keep you from going to school, or becoming a lawyer.” She pulled back and looked at me. “Just please, please don't forget how serious this is. We want you to succeed. We all believe in you.”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, nodding. “I know,” I said, sniffling. “I know what I did was wrong, and it'll never happen again.”

“Good,” she said, smiling a little and hugging me again. “We love you, no matter what happens.”

I hugged her back tightly, a small part of me feeling optimistic. If someone as smart as Sarah thought I'd get through this, then there had to be hope. But the feeling didn't last long. The door opened and the principal's voice echoed in the cold, barren room.

“Thank you Sarah,” the man said as she pulled away from me. “I believe Ms. Wallace understands the severity of her actions now. You may go.” Sarah smiled and squeezed my shoulder, offering me an encouraging smile before turning and disappearing into the hallway.

I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves. “Am I done Dr. Bequette?” I managed to say.

“I'm afraid not, Ms. Wallace. There's someone else I've brought to see you.”

A knot formed in my stomach. I'd already seen my parents, my brother, and my best friend. There was nobody else close to me that he could possibly bring in. My worst fears were confirmed when a well-dressed woman came through the door with a Council badge pinned to her shirt. I felt the color drain from my face, and I looked at the principal. He eyed me as he closed the door behind her. Years of being at the top of my class meant nothing to him now. He thought I was a reject. An artistic mind that shunned society and selfishly pursued their own creative desires, and that sought to poison the rest of the world with art.

I turned my attention to the woman, probably looking like a dog with its tail between its legs. The mere image of her caused my life to flash before my eyes, and in one moment I watched all that I'd worked for go down the drain. I braced myself for the worst; her cold, judging eyes and the sentence of being displaced from society.

But strangely, she smiled at me. Something about her friendly expression reminded me of Sarah, and I felt a tiny bit of my fear ease.

“Hello Molly,” she said, smiling softly as she walked over to me. “May I sit down?”

I hesitated, taken aback by her kind tone. “Y-Yes,” I managed.

She sat down and crossed one leg over the other, adjusting the papers on her clipboard. I studied her features. She was very pretty, and I guessed she was between thirty and forty years of age. She was dressed respectively and her short dark hair was styled away from her face. Her name tag read “Daskalov,” and she was practically the personification of the law.

She pulled out a pen and looked at me, the same smile still on her face. “So Molly, why don't we go over what happened in class today?”

Chapter 2

I was on track to graduate within the year. I would have gone on to a special law school to finish my education and become the fourth-youngest lawyer in history, something I've wanted since I read my first judicial archive report when I was eight.

From a young age, children are encouraged to think logically and become a productive member of society. Parents support their children's talents and interests throughout their early education until they find their calling. When children turn ten, it is customary they receive their first textbook or manual of the profession that they show the most promise in. I was already so interested in law, that by that time, I had read two. I've always been ahead of the pack; Sarah was the only one who could keep up with me academically. I was the perfect student, and by extension the perfect citizen.

It was a normal day at school. I had finished my advanced classes, and I was in my much simpler math course. I was familiar with the material already, and so my mind wandered a bit. I was sketching mathematical symbols, and without realizing it, I was putting them together into a pattern. It's common for children to doodle when they are young, but their behavior is quickly corrected and they learn to stop. It is almost unheard of for an adult, let alone a star pupil, to humor such a disturbing urge.

When the professor noticed my drawing, he took away my notes and immediately reported me to the principal. The whole class gawked at me, and even then I knew that my reputation was completely tarnished. The principal, Mr. Bequette, was just as stunned as everyone else. He had followed my achievements and prided himself in having such an exceptional student. I could tell that I had completely let him down, him more so than anybody else. It's no wonder he loathed me so much afterward.

Only when I was put into isolation did I realize the severity of my actions. I sat in that cold, empty, grey room for hours before they started bringing my family in for intervention. I tried to tell them that I didn't mean for it to happen, that I wasn't falling victim to creativity, but they wouldn't believe me. All they felt was disappointment. For that matter, most of what I felt was disappointment. Sarah was right when she said I was foolish, and despite her comfort, I still wondered if my life would ever be the same.

When Mrs. Daskalov came in, my heart sank. I knew better than anyone what happened when government officials got involved in art crimes. Yet the longer I sat there with her, the more comfortable I became. Other than that glaring badge, everything about her seemed to say “I'm friendly, I'm here to help you, talk to me.” After all, she was the type of lawful agent I admired, and similar to the type of person that I aspired to be. If I was innocent, and knew how to talk to her, I should have had no reason to fear her.

“You know what happened,” I finally told her.

She nodded. “You're right, I do. And I also know what a smart young lady you are,” she said. She put her pen down and leaned forward a bit. “So let's drop the ridiculous facades, shall we?”

My eyes widened in shock. “W...What...?”

“I'll let you in on a secret,” she said, a small smile still lingering on her lips. “Everybody slips up once or twice. This is totally normal, and you have nothing to worry about. Nobody's perfect, you know.”

I blinked, not understanding. “But I committed a dangerous crime,” I said stupidly. Surely I wasn't helping my case. I probably sounded incompetent.

She chuckled. “I was just like you when I was your age,” she mused. “Following the rules to a 'T.' It would be one thing if you were just another student, Molly. But you're one of the brightest minds of your generation, and you have nothing to be worried about. So quit acting so hopeless, you're much smarter than that.”

I stared at her, confusion and relief mixing together in a strange ball in my chest. I was like her? A noble government official that kept the society in order? That was quite a compliment for anyone, let alone a student who committed potential art crime.Did she believe that I was innocent? Did she see something in me?

“So... I'm not in trouble?” I said, trying to grasp the concept.

She chuckled. “Well, you've definitely caused a commotion. But no, you're not in trouble. Someone of your exceptional standard could never endanger society by practicing your penmanship.”

I felt myself smile, and a relieved giggle escaped my lips. She believed me. She understood me. For the first time all afternoon, I felt a shred of hope. Perhaps this could all blow over, and my life could go back to normal. Maybe I could still become like Mrs. Daskalov. I felt the sudden urge to make her proud. To follow in her footsteps and prove to her that she was right to believe in me. Determination flooded through me.

But the feeling vanished just as quickly as it came, and it was replaced by a horrid mixture of doubt and fear. I looked up at her desperately.

“What if I do it again?” I said quietly. “It usually doesn't go away, does it? What if I get the urge to draw something else, and what if it's worse than in class? I don't want to become a reject, Mrs. Daskalov.”

She smiled at me and leaned forward, putting her hand on my knee. “Call me Paula. Don't worry Molly, I'm going to help you,” she said kindly. “There's an institution where I've arranged for you stay for a while, so they can take a look at you. They'll prove you're not creative, and then this whole ordeal will be over. Your life will go back to normal, and you'll be back on track to graduation.”

My heart lifted. “You think so?” I said hopefully. “I'll be back in class, and with my family? Will I be able to graduate with Sarah??”

She nodded, her smile widening. “Yes, if you can stay caught up with your schoolwork, I see no reason why you can't.”

Relief hit me like a tidal wave. My hands flew to my mouth, and then to my chest. “Oh my goodness, really? I can't thank you enough Paula, you've just saved my life!” I said, practically breathless as the emotional tension melted away.

She grinned at me. “I'm happy to help,” she said. I guess she could tell I needed a hug, because she put her blank clipboard aside, then stood up and held her arms open for me. “You'll be alright, Molly.”

I sprang up and hugged her, wishing I could impart the gratitude I felt to her through our embrace. “You've done so much for me, how can I ever repay you?” I said fervently.

Paula pulled away and held me at an arms length. “By being patient,” she said. “And using your head. Don't let yourself fall victim to a bad habit, no matter what happens at that institution. Can you do that for me?”

I grinned and nodded. “I will Paula, I promise! I won't let you down!”

“Good girl,” she said, hugging me again before releasing me. “On a much more positive note, you pronounce my last name beautifully.”

“I studied Bulgarian for three years,” I smiled.

I followed her out of the grey room, where I was met by Sarah and my family. I thought I'd lost everything just a few minutes ago, but thanks to Paula I felt even more confident than before. Now more than ever, I knew where I was going in life. After becoming a lawyer, I would climb the ranks and work my way onto the Council. With a mentor like Paula, I was sure to succeed.

After I left the institution, nothing would stop me.

Chapter 3

It was only a couple of days later that I was registered into the institution.

I had moved in some of my personal belongings, but I was only allowed dull colored or plain clothes (for other patients' sake). It was a nice building; it had a garden outside, a recreation room, a pool, and its own educational program. There was also a well-regulated meal plan, which actually included more sweets than I usually ate. There were all kinds of sports and fun things to do, but best of all, it had a large library.

The people were nice as well, and on my first day I found a friend in one of the janitors. While I was unpacking, he came by pushing a big cart full of soft colored bouquets. The friendly man introduced himself and explained that all the bedrooms here were stocked with flowers. We talked for a little while, and his positive attitude and sense of humor reminded me of my father. He let me pick my favorite bouquet from the cart, and told me that he would always let me do so if I was in my room when he came by. I grew quite fond of him throughout my time there.

It was on my second day that I felt my first moments of doubt. I wasn't sure why at first, and so I passed it off as part of all the changes. Before they started treatments, they had to determine what was “wrong” with me. Except in my case, they were going to determine what wasn't wrong with me. Three times a week I had appointments with an adviser that would analyze my mental state and overall well-being, starting on that second day. I knew I had no good reason to be nervous, but I couldn't help the fact that I was. After all, my life practically depended on these appointments.

That morning, I dressed in clothes that I thought made me look “normal” just to help my cause. I pulled my hair back into a respectable bun, and practiced some of the responses I might have to make. I looked over myself in the mirror before I left, and I couldn't help but notice the small changes in myself over the past few days. My dark hair was a little less tidy, my eyes were more perceptive, and my stance had a slight defensive edge to it. I could practically see the caution and vigilance I had been feeling over the past several days. I knew I should've been worried about these changes, as small as they were, but I didn't feel wild or strung out like I looked. If anything, I felt a mixture of worry and determination. I was very aware, but not out of control.

I hurried to finish getting ready, redoing my hair to make it neater before heading to the East Wing of the institute. I timed it so that I would be right on time for my appointment. I sat a chair right outside the door, waiting patiently for my adviser and tapping my foot.

When the door opened, a well-dressed man with a clipboard emerged. He wore glasses, and despite only looking about thirty, he had silvery salt-and-pepper hair. His mature face let him pull off the look quite nicely. He looked more suited for a business meeting than an institution like this. Maybe he was too young, I thought. Maybe his future career wanted him to have experience first.

He smiled at me and held out his hand. “You must be Molly,” he said. “I'm Dr. Aaron, it's nice to meet you.”

I stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too,” I said, putting on my best smile.

“Come into my office,” he said, holding the door open for me. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As I stepped in, I couldn't help but notice how grey the room was; pale walls, dark grey furniture, a very simple rug, and only a few wooden pieces here and there. It was how I imagined the institute would be before I came. Yet the rest of the building was decorated very nicely, and was in no way void of color like this room nearly was. I made my way to the couch and sat back, guessing it was to create a neutral vibe for the patients.

“So Molly,” Dr. Aaron said, sitting on a chair across from me. “How are you settling in?”

“Pretty well,” I said. “This is a very nice place.” For a building full of criminals, anyway.

“I'm glad you think so,” he smiled, pushing up his glasses and getting his pen ready. “Now, I have a few questions f0r you, if you don't mind.”

The statement confused me a little bit. Why would I mind? Nonetheless, I nodded at him. “Not at all.”

He scribbled something down. “First, I'd like to know why you're here.”

I cringed internally. I really didn't want to tell the story again. “Don't you know?”

“I know what's on the records,” he said, looking at me. “But I want to hear it from you.”

I thought for a moment, looking down at my hands. “Well... I let my mind wander too much during class, and I guess I doodled some kind of design,” I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. I thought about what Paula said to me at the school. “I thought I was just practicing my penmanship... I've let my mind wander before and I've never done anything like this. Of course now I understand what I did and why it's dangerous. It's kind of scary to think I did that.”

He nodded a little. “You're right feel that way. Art is pretty scary,” he said, jotting something down again. “Now I know that you're an outstanding student. One of the brightest of your generation, they say. So why did you suddenly draw that day? Was there anything out of the ordinary at the time?”

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “It's normal for me to get ahead of my easier classes, and sometimes I space out when they teach what I already know. It was a regular day.”

He kept writing. “Oh? Then tell me,” he said, peeking up over his glasses at me. “What do you think it was that made you want to draw?”

I hesitated. Hadn't I just answered this question? I said that I wasn't thinking at the time, and that there was nothing out of the usual that day. Why was he pushing me to find another answer?

Dr. Aaron waited for me, but I had no other answer to give him. “I see,” he said quietly, scribbling something down.

I panicked, afraid he was writing something bad. “Wait,” I said quickly. “It was really nothing. I'm ashamed of what I did, and I'm never going to do it again. It was... It was just an off-moment. I know better now.”

He finished writing and looked up at me. “I believe you,” he said. “I think you're very intelligent for realizing what you did wrong. I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

I relaxed a little, but something in my gut told me that something was still off. “Thank you doctor,” I said, putting on a smile. “I just hope I don't have to stay here very long, so I can get back to university soon.”

“Well until then, we have a lovely schooling program and a massive library. Now, I'd like to try something with you,” he said, shuffling through the papers on his clipboard. “This is a very simple procedure, all you have to do is tell me what you see, okay?”

Any sense of relaxation I felt disappeared. What? What did this have to do with anything? I felt my head nod automatically, but I had no idea what my face looked like.

He smiled. “Fantastic,” he said. “First picture, what do you see?”

Time started to move in slow motion. I felt the color drain from my face as he held up a misshapen ink blot. In that instant, I realized that I wasn't just being questioned.

I was in therapy.

My stomach did a little flip-flop and I felt my hands grip the cushion. “Um, excuse me,” he said, hoping the fear didn't show in my voice. “But what if I don't see anything in the ink?”

He smiled. “If you don't see anything, then you don't see anything,” he said.

Chapter 4

I never saw anything in the ink blots.

Dr. Aaron showed me one after another, each one looking as shapeless as the last. No matter how long he let me stare, no matter which way he held it, I saw nothing. How could I when I was so blinded by fear? I tried to act as if nothing was wrong, but there was no telling how much he could really see.

After a dozen or so, he finally caught on and scribbled the “results” down on his clipboard. “I expected you to be a little bit more responsive to the pictures,” he said. “But it's good that you weren't. It shows that your judgement is unclouded.” He finished writing and looked up at me, smiling. “That's all I had planned for today. If you don't have any questions for me, I think we're all done here.”

I nodded and tried to smile back. “I'm good,” I managed to say. I had no idea how I must have sounded. All I knew is that I had to get out of there.

I stood up and Dr. Aaron followed, walking me to the door and holding it open. “It was nice to meet you, Molly. I'll see you in a couple of days. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, I will,” I said quickly, ducking out of the room.

I forced my legs to move, to carry me down the hall just long enough to slip into a small single bathroom. I closed the door behind me and braced myself against the wall, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Surely this wasn't what Paula intended for me. I didn't need therapy, I needed an analysis. I needed someone to test me and prove that I was normal.

No, Paula must not know what Dr. Aaron planned for me. She assured me that I would be able to graduate with Sarah. I just had to trust in her. Be patient, like she told me. She said she'd come to see me after I got settled in, which probably meant tomorrow at the latest. She would set things right. Well, if things weren't “right” already. After all, didn't that test prove that I didn't think creatively? Maybe this was all just part of the process and I was just being paranoid. The thought relaxed me a little. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I pushed off the wall and went over to the sink.

My heart sank immediately again as I caught my reflection in the mirror. If I looked like this in front of Dr. Aaron, I was screwed.

I looked a hundred times worse than I did in my room earlier. My face was flushed, my eyes were bright, and my body was tense. “Scared” might have well have been written on my forehead. There was no way Dr. Aaron didn't see it. My cover was blown, and I knew he didn't believe a word I said.

Surely he thought I was lying about the ink blots.

I shook my head furiously and turned on the faucet, splashing myself with water as if I could scrub off the face I saw in the mirror. Still, I avoided my reflection's eyes as I turned to dry myself with a paper towel.

There was a short, light knock on the door. “Hey, you still in there?” a girl's voice asked.

I straightened up. “Yeah, one sec,” I replied automatically. I pulled myself together, smoothing my hair and straightening my shirt. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, taking another deep breath before opening the door. “Sorry about that,” I said, stepping around the girl without looking at her.

“Hey, wait up,” she said. At first I didn't think she was talking to me, but then I heard her footsteps as she started to follow me.

I hesitated for a moment before turning and looking over my shoulder at her. She had layered brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses, a friendly smile on her face. Her dark jeans and blue cropped jacket clearly violated the dress code, but something made me think that any warning she received was like water off of a duck's back to her.

I didn't try to relax my tense posture. I was having a bit of a moment here, and the last thing I wanted was to socialize with an artist.

She stepped up to me. “You're the new girl, right?”

I nodded a little, facing her. “Uh, yeah. Molly.” I hoped my body language would register with her.

“Kayla,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets. “You uh... just came from your first appointment, huh? I saw you right before you went into the bathroom.”

“Was it that obvious?” I mumbled, looking away. I'd really have to work on my pokerface.

“Nah, not at all. I've just come to know what it looks like,” she said, her tone a bit rueful. Her eyebrows pulled together and she looked at me with sympathy. “I know how s****y it is, Molly. We've all been there, and the first appointment is always the scariest. I tried to run away after my first session,” she said, frowning a little at the memory. “But I didn't come up to you to start a pity party, I just wanted you to know that you're not alone.” She offered me a small smile. “My friends and I are good listeners. We all stick together in here.”

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile. Her attitude surprised me because, honestly, I didn't expect to like any of the patients here. In my head, I pictured them all as neurotic artists that were indifferent about society and the world around them; that was all I'd ever thought of those who fell victim to art. Yet this girl seemed friendly and caring. Perhaps she was like me, and was only in here due to a misunderstanding.

But it didn't make me feel any better.

“I appreciate that Kayla, but I don't know... I don't think I'd fit in with you and your friends, and I'm not going to be here that long anyway. I'd just like to be alone.” Though this was true, I actually kind of liked her. She had a great spirit. But there was no point in making friends in here.

I started to turn away, but she stopped me.

“Wait, Molly,” she said quickly. “You shouldn't be alone in here. We don't have to be friends, but trust me. Being alone is suicide.”

A small shudder ran up my back. The urgency in her voice was vaguely... haunting. I didn't see how being alone would make much of a difference in this institution, but I couldn't ignore a warning like that.

I nodded at her. “Yeah, okay,” I mumbled. I offered a smile to her, grateful for the warning. “Thank you.”

She relaxed, seeming relived as she returned my smile. “Your welcome. Anyway,” she said, taking a step back. “I was just heading off to lunch. If you haven't eaten already, you should come with me.”

I hesitated, but decided that it was better to go along with my new friend than to risk being “alone”.

“You're pretty brave,” I said, joking half-heartedly. “I'm a criminal, you know.”

She chuckled, standing next to me loyally. “We're all criminals in here. It isn't often we get someone our age in here though. Like I said, we look out for each other.”

“We?”

“Our group. I'll introduce you when we get to the cafeteria, if you want,” she said, starting off down the hall.

Our group. She already considered me to be one of them. Although the idea of the artistic group bothered me, another part of me was strangely flattered by the invitation. I had been alone in this institution, but I now felt a sense of welcome by this girl and her group that I couldn't help but be grateful for. I followed Kayla to the cafeteria, glad that I had someone looking out for me in the institution.

I thought briefly about Paula, and wondered how she planned to help me. Surely it was in her power to do anything, being a member of the council. But then I tried not to think about that anymore, because I realized that not even Paula would be above the law.

Author's Note

Any and all criticism welcome!