Fifth

"Purged" was a term Corinne, a member of my think-tank, had come up for what they do to us. It's not cleansing, like a shower is suppose to be. Rather, a mass evacuation of undesirable bacteria, smells, chemicals, and the like. It was one of those phrases that worked so perfectly that it wormed its way into the lexicon of our keepers.

Oh, that familiar pattern of burn, freeze, burn. I still dread having to do these three or more times a day. Standing nude with my hands in the big orange circles, caked in the burning antibacterial powder and tensing every muscle while awaiting the icy downpour; I wonder if it gets any easier. My memories betray me as the most vivid picture of my daughter flashes before my eyes. Like a lash from a frozen whip, my skin feels like it's been cleaved from my back with every burst of cold water. The physical pain of being purged overwhelmed my emotional suffering, something I always told Dora never to indulge in. As the searing heat jets shoot my internal body temperature back to normal, I try to picture my baby girl and that this sudden rush of warmth is her doing. It works for an instant, but fades as quickly. I put on a fresh basic uniform and head to the mess hall.

The mess hall used to be lively before they made all the changes. The doors would open and the people would be talking, laughing, complaining, roughhousing, necking, and being human. It didn't matter who you'd sit next to because you had everything in common with everyone. Take a heaping spoonful of whatever they were serving that day and ask the person sitting across from you what happened to the; what got them to this horrible state? Talk about your families, how well your sports team was doing before you had to report to serve your time, about that great dinner your husband used to make when you were having a bad day, how good your wife looked in that little blue thing your last night as a free man. On your birthday, you'd get a cupcake with a candle and the whole room would explode with that old tune. To celebrate anything was a big deal; to the point where people were pulling out the birthdays of relatives they only knew by name just so that we could have a cheer.