The Compound

by Aisling Rawle

What did it matter to wake up at the same time every morning and wear the same clothes and try to eat more protein but less sugar, when an earthquake or a tsunami or a bomb might end it all at any minute? Or maybe we would all continue to boil, slowly but surely, in the mess that we pretended was an acceptable place to live.

THIS

“I think that the way we’re living now,” he said slowly, careful not to break the rules and mention that we were part of the show, “preys on the idea of desire. It amplifies it to the point of absurdity. You have to find someone to share a bed with, or you’re out. You have to make someone want to share a bed with you, or you’re out. And then they throw these tasks and rewards at you, and you keep living in this uncertain state, lurching between wanting and having. I think that must affect all of the decisions we make here, don’t you?”

okay, but also is this not basically what real life is like?

“I have this very strong desire to feed you the food that I’ve grown. Isn’t that strange? I’ve never had that thought before.”

uh yeah, it is strange

I wasn’t certain on what part of my life I was an active part of, and what was a result of the machinations around me. But that, to me at least, felt no different from how it had been on the outside.

same

there are some people who are so compulsively watchable that you feel yourself surrender some small bit of your personality to them. I remember how I used to try to copy her easy laugh, the delighted boom of it.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I came on the show?” “No,” she said. “I don’t need you to explain it. You’re the kind of girl the show was made for.”

okay but why is this just one giant 'fuck you'