M
Marlee McDougall


A young woman decides to willingly become a social outcast, and reflects on her decision.


Conto Impróprio para crianças menores de 13 anos.

#depression #anxiety #scars #suicide attempts #cutting #self harm
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Scars

“Where's it going?”

I pointed at a spot on my right wrist.

The attendant nodded, peeled the back off the mark, and stuck it where I'd pointed to.

“Any final questions?” The frown on his face told me that he'd rather I had none. I shook my head, and he walked off without another word.

I lay back on the hospital bed, waiting for the surgeon and anaesthetist to arrive. The mark on my wrist was slightly off-centre, but that didn't matter. In the past I'd spent many hours staring at this wrist. When the plug's installed, I won't be the only one.



After the operation, I felt as though my brain were wrapped in cotton wool. I was sluggishly blinking against the fluorescent lighting when a nurse arrived.

She beamed at me, and I thought there was no way she could know what was under my bandage. “Ah, you're up. That's good. Don't worry, the Sleep inducing drugs are nothing like anaesthesia. Coming to will be a breeze. Some people even get used to it after a while, and need stronger and stronger doses.” With practised hands, she removed the IV from my arm, while I nodded. Jason, my childhood best friend and lover had told me the same thing. “I know the people who write the pamphlets aren't Sleepers themselves, but now you're hearing it from a reliable source.” She winked conspiratorially at me, and it clicked in my mind why she was so cheerful. She was an ex-Sleeper. Though society would say that there's no such thing.

“I see you went with your wrist,” she nodded at my bandage as she taped a cotton ball to my elbow, where she'd removed the IV. “I wasn't game to go anywhere quite so open myself.” She patted her left shoulder, where I assume her own plug must have been concealed.

“I don't see the point in hiding it.” I said. Jason hadn't, either. He'd been proud to be a Sleeper, and I felt like I owed it to him to show the same pride.

She sat herself down on the chair beside my bed. “It's so brave of you to just have it there, where everyone can see it. What about when you've earned enough?”

I shook my head. It wasn't about that. Not for me. Most people Slept to pay off debts, or put themselves through university. Some Slept because there was no place for them to do anything else to earn money in this world. For Jason, it had been a statement. Standing up to his parents. For me...

“I'd rather not talk about it.”

The nurse winced, and I knew she was imagining a large debt. Something that would take years of Sleeping to pay off. Many Sleepers who start, knowing they'll be stuck doing it for years, care little about the placement of their plugs. I almost wanted to correct her. But I couldn't.

“Well, never mind all that, anyway.” She stood up. “They're working on a way to remove the, you know. Early testing will start in the next couple of years. There's nothing they can really do to prevent the skin from scarring, but scars are so much easier to cover up.” She smiled. “I'll just get you something small to eat and drink, and you should be discharged in no time.” She patted my leg before walking off.

Of course, removing the plug would mean that I'd need to stop Sleeping one day. Most people did. They Slept while they needed to, then covered up their plugs to try and re-enter a society that looked down on those who slept for money. Even when famous people have come out as being ex-Sleepers, people still associate the act with those who have no desire to get a job in order to become a contributing member of society.

Hell, before Jason had started Sleeping, I'd had much the same view on it myself.



I was relieved to find that waking up after taking the Sleep drugs was a lot easier than coming to from anaesthesia. As promised on the prescription, the drugs had induced a deep Sleeping state for the fourteen hour dosage I'd chosen to start with, and then allowed me to wake up more normally.

I unplugged myself, and looked at the display next to my bed. The monitor had recorded my sleep, as it was supposed to. Fifteen and a half hours all up. An extra hour and a half after the drugs had worn off. I'd been prepared for that. It was recommended to take a dose two to three hours less than you actually want to Sleep for to begin with.

It was a matter of moments to apply my unique code to the device, which then sent my harvested Sleep to the main storage facility. My phone dinged with an email as soon as it went through.

I read it as I made my way to the kitchen, though I already knew what it would say. An email from the bank saying that the payment for the Sleep I'd just submitted had been transferred into my account. It wasn't much. But then, if it were, everyone would want to Sleep, and the job would no longer go to those who don't want to do anything else, or those who can't do anything else.

I made myself some toast as I read through some other emails that had arrived while I'd been Sleeping. Unsurprisingly, the world had gone on just as it always done. Nothing had changed while I'd been unconscious.

Perhaps nothing ever would.



I could feel eyes staring at me as I went about my daily life. I pushed it out of my mind, and focused on Jason's words, after he'd first started Sleeping.

They're jealous. They know I'm spending my life comfortable in a bed, while they're slaving away. They have to wait in lines, while I get to flash my plug and move to the front. The ability to store and use Sleep first came about because of the old adage. For most people that means they can use Sleep to get a few extra hours of work done. Like Bartram. But for Sleepers? Our only ability to earn money is while we're fast asleep. But they don't want to raise the price of Sleep to make it completely unaffordable. So they instead make concessions for us. We get discounts on a lot of things, and the ability to jump to the front of queues.”

Now that I was Sleeping myself, the truth in his words rung even deeper. Not that it had ever seemed false.



“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” I raised an eyebrow at Bartram as I leaned against the open door. My brother looked intently at his feet, mumbling something I couldn't hear. “What was that?”

“I said, can't a guy come and see his little sister?”

No hesitation on his part always brightened my day, but I still put on a show of annoyance, tapping my foot. “And since when exactly have we been close enough that you just come over unannounced?”

“Since I came to apologise about being an arse.”

I stepped aside, allowing him into my apartment, not even trying to hide the smile on my face. “And just which time was that?”

He shook his head as he walked in. I closed the door behind him, and followed him into the kitchen, where he'd already begun to make himself a cup of coffee. “Do makeyourself at home.”

“Well, to be entirely fair, I do help pay for this place.” Bartram held up a teabag.

I nodded, and sat down at my small table. “And here I was thinking you'd stopped using Sleep after the whole suspension thing.”

Like many Sleep users, my brother had become an addict. He'd relied on the technology to replace any and all actual sleeping he'd had to do, and used the extra time to work harder at his job. Unfortunately, like all addicts, there came a time when the lack of actually sleeping had come to bite him in the ass, and he'd snapped. Sleep was good at helping you feel invigorated, but by no means was it a perfect replacement for actually sleeping. This was why it was a regulated substance, and people were unable to legally obtain more than thirty five hours a week.

Of course, as with any regulated substance, there were illegal channels people could obtain it through. Sleepers selling their product straight from the source. Working in the Sleep related crimes unit, my brother had easily been able to find ways to access Sleep illegally. He'd lasted six weeks without any natural sleep before his mental break. It varied from person to person, with most barely making it a month.

“I meant the money Dad gave me. Which I'm nice enough to share with you.”

I felt my face flushing with anger. “Oh, you're nice enough to share it, are you? That utter arse writes me out of his will, and you're nice enough to share what he should have given me in the first place?”

Bartram placed a mug of hot tea in front of me, before sitting across from me. “You know I don't mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” Unfortunately for our sibling bond, this almost always ended up happening when we talked. We'd start arguing about one thing or another. It was worse on days he'd hesitate to call me a sister. But whenever he brought up our father, I couldn't help but get riled up.

“Just that... You know... I...” He stopped just before saying something we both knew he'd regret. “I do love you, you know?”

I sighed, and let my hackles down. “Yeah, I know.” Years after coming out, he still found it difficult to talk to me about most things. But, like he'd been about to say before he'd tactfully cut himself off, at least he didn't disown me, like our parents had. After that, he and Jason had been the only people I could turn to. Since Jason had passed away, he tried harder to make up for it. He'd known what Jason had meant to me. He'd lost his best friend, but I'd lost the love of my life. The one person who never once hesitated.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today, anyway?” I sipped my tea. As always, he'd made it just right. It was always astonishing to me that such a staunch coffee enthusiast could make a decent cup of tea. Even Jason never quite got it right.

“I just wanted to check up on you. See how you were going, after...” He glanced at my bedroom, where the equipment for harvesting Sleep was in plain sight next to my bed.

“I'm going fine.” I said. “I got my plug in my wrist. Wanna see?” I practically threw my wrist at him, grinning as he pulled a face and leaned away.

Shaking his head, he smiled back. “Well, at least you're okay. I worry about you, you know?” We'd argued for months after I'd decided to get my plug and start Sleeping. He'd tried threatening me with stopping the allowance he was giving me from his inheritance. Which he soon realised was a mistake. Then he'd tried pleading. Offering to raise my allowance. Telling me that I could always come to him if I were strapped for cash.

But it had never been about that. Not for me.

I let my hand fall back into my lap. It's amazing how such a small thing can change someone's life. Can make them an outcast. But for me, that little plug was doing so much more than that. It was doing more than supplementing my income. It was giving me a purpose. A reason to live. It was saving my life.

“I bet you're glad you never cut that wrist then.” Bartram took my left hand in his as he said that, pulling aside the plethora of bracelets that always covered the scars on that wrist. “Not sure there'd be room for a plug here, with all of those.”

I touched the tender skin around the small plug, and nodded. Of course, that had been among my reasoning for where I'd chosen to place it.

11 de Janeiro de 2017 às 08:54 0 Denunciar Insira Seguir história
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