The Unnoticeables

by Robert Brockway

Survival finally won out over fear, and my legs freed themselves. I bolted for the door, stupidly yanking at the handle. I could see it was locked, but it was like panic lived in my fingers now. I willed them to stop scrabbling uselessly at the handle and to just twist the little switch, but they wouldn’t. They would only pull and pull and pull. “She tries to flee,” a voice droned behind me, each word punctuated by the slap of skin on skin. “She thinks there is somewhere to flee to,” the other voice answered. “Does she know we have a role for her.” The slapping increased in tempo. “Perfect casting. She was born for it.” “Like fuel is born for fire.” “She comes to us freely, as they all do.” The slapping came faster and faster. There was a sound like wet paper tearing. I pried my hands from the handle. Held them out in front of me. Focused on making them still. “Yet they wonder why they are here.” “They are drawn to this place. They are flawed, weak, and stupid. They are human. Yet through systematic degradation and avarice, they are reduced. Cleared of pretension.” “And here, at last and for the first time, they are rendered useful.” “They walk proudly into this place. They speak of it in hushed and optimistic tones. They dream all their lives of the refinery.” “And still wonder why we burn them when they arrive.”