recording , xx/xx-xx .
the follow interview has been kept to ensure further safety. if it is so that the subject in question declines the position offered, all evidence should be destroyed.
" and what makes you qualified for this research ?"
" i do pride myself of high coordination of eyes and legs," they didn't hold a favor towards humor, eyes falling towards the metal frame i had been confined to for the last two years. " i was a former pilot for the military forces of my home planet , as well as a marine biologist working with deep sea species."
i neglected the part where i, also, held the title of undefeated champion of dance dance revolution, sixth year in a row. something told me they wouldn't find it believable, fun or even relevant (those games, however, are hell i tell you).
who'd find it in them to believe me, body now occupying a wheelchair. it's odd, that way, how the people you meet tend to forge stories in their head before you get a chance to talk to them. even in times where intergalatic travel has become a reality, those that allow their gaze to fall down on me hold such pity. poor thing, unfortunate soul, as if i have found nothing but misery in my new-found life. had they taken the time to listen, they would come to understand that my life didn't stop. it continued, though i'd find myself with some obstacles, such as reaching for the mugs my coworkers would place higher than i could fetch at the office, or how i would drift on the days the cleaning personell had forgotten to notify us of wet floors. that, however, was always in my benefit. i drifted, the others fell.
in these stories woven by those that deemed me a victim of life, they would always assume such travesties, and perhaps mine even was one. i didn't see it as such. unfortunate? surely. but it didn't hinder me, didn't stop me from what i was doing. my life as a pilot kept going, for there were plenty accommodations my squad was willing to perform, and yet... there'd always be the same questioning, curious and burdened eyes that would seek to me, bearing this question they always dreaded to ask.
i had heard it before. it didn't bother me.
" it says in the documents that you are thirty-seven," they would state, "is that correct?"
they'd make notes with pen in the corner of these documents. birth certificats, doctor's notes, loans. just about anything they could request, and then some. a mission of utmost importance, clearly, as they did a more thorough background check.
but there was still this question, this one question they avoided.
i could only wait for it to drop, hands in my lap, sitting pretty for those weary eyes that would shift between each other. pity, an uncomfortable veil that weighed them down; ask me, i wanted to say out loud, ask me already.
another rejection wouldn't have bothered me.
but they seemed to pick up on that, for perhaps it had been my calm smile throughout it all, the way i patiently waited and didn't ask any questions to them. why would i? their purpose didn't matter to me, not anymore.
" according to the papers brought onto us by your... doctor... it says here that you become wheelchair bound three years ago, may we ask how it happened?"
i tried not to smile further, to bask in the revelation of their uncomfortable fear. such a loaded inquiry, afraid that they would set something off, as if i would leave the room in a hurry to cry my heart out. when had i ever? the story was as everyone else's. life. as much as we wanted to control it, tame it to fit our will and purpose, there were simply some things we could not achieve such status with. destiny, some called it, but i preferred to call it my kind of thing.
life has a funny way with me (and i'd shrug out of habit at their question, nonchalantly) and bringing about obstacles. in these stories, i would speak so warmly. they were dear memories to me, despite the odd tragedy that would imprint itself in them, and even then i couldn't find it in me to grieve. why would i? i had lived, and i kept living. heaven and hellfire, but i'd walk the fine line of lukewarm, only dipping a toe whichever direction destiny pushed me towards. stories like mine would bring such curiosity in the eyes of those that listened, even if they didn't quite want to, even if they asked out of protocol. i couldn't blame them, i would have looked as well.
" i was partaking in an air raid, a rogue missile struck my jet and caused me to crash land into the deepest parts of the sea. at the speed i was going, there was simply no way in redirecting it other than allowing it to crash into the water to halt it as much as possible. after a few seconds below the surface, i managed to eject myself, and the experimental diver gear activated. " life, as you would have it, brought such interesting opportunities to me. life of a pilot, one of the first to engage in camouflaged combat underwater, and a darn good one as well. that diver gear? first one. i wore that responsibility proudly, but i'd also reach for my thigh with a pat. experimental. " upon activation, however, there was a flaw we hadn't considered. within the diver's gear there'd be metal, a suit that would activate to unsure proper oxygen and protection from the cold water. in my descend, the metal had heated up and as it embraced my legs and back it imploded, impaling my spine."
i never needed to explain further. this was kindergarten math to those. pilot crashes, pilot activates warm metal in cold water, pilot mentions spine and gives a gentle nod. conclusion; pilot's streak of going undefeated in dance dance revolution ends.
" that is -" i would redirect them here, state that it was not a tragedy nor sad to hear, for it was life and it didn't stop me. even after this, i insisted on training, insisted on honing my skills as a pilot and diver. as a marine biologist, i could still travel beneath the surface, and that made them turn their question around; " - an explanation."
" one could take it that you are not afraid of risks?"
here, i'd crack a small laugh. " what's life without risks?"
" is that why you applied to this mission ?"
my favorite. the upcoming rejection. perking up, i prepared the words as i always would. gently, ready to present them in a way most would understand; " no," curiosity, eyes beaming as they couldn't quite understand but then, silence.
" i've got two years to live."
"... subject 253-1 shows great promise with their background as a pilot and marine biologist ... what of their diagnosis ? we believe we can maintain their body long enough for the mind to adapt to the suit, and for the suit to learn of their knowledge to ensure a beneficial point for us. what of their family, friends? when speaking to their colleagues, none could say that they had formed a relation with them, but that they were a decent person with a kind heart and honesty. two years to live, that's a cruel fate."
the recorded has ended. the follow interview has been kept to ensure further safety. if it is so that the subject in question declines the position offered, all evidence should be destroyed.
