Second Floor

[The following is an entry in the Joy Journal of Optimist #104. At the time of writing, #104 was housed on the second floor of Happiness.]

 

Hello.

Do you say hello to a diary? The lemons call it a Joy Journal. I don't know why they can't just use normal words for things. A diary is a joy journal. A meal is a fulfillment. A bed is a catcher. They don't teach us the words but somehow expect us to know them? We get punished if we don't use the right words. Oh, and punishment is called therapy.

The second floor is a lot different from the first. The first floor was pretty tame. I got asked a lot of questions by the lemons. Some of them were normal: name, age, etc. Some were sort of weird: date of last period, blood type, and favorite flower. And then, there were the really uncomfortable questions. They wanted to know what kind of sex I liked and whether or not I liked the taste of cum. I didn't want to answer but they said it was for my own benefit. They said they were helping me.

Now I'm not really sure.

Things are just... off. Like, I can't wear my street clothes, I have to wear these uncomfortable peach scrubs. Everyone wears a different color. Some people have stains near their private parts. I stay away from those people. They freak me out. They walk funny and some of them have really long tongues.

The lemons make us - oh, shit, I have to tell you who the lemons are. They're the bosses around here. Technically, we're supposed to call them Agents. You can pick them out because they are always smiling. They usually wear yellow, which is where the nickname came from. My bunkmate, Lucy, told me about it. She said she always makes a sour face when they turn their backs. She's funny. She lost everything before coming here, just like me. I'm supposed to call her #99 but when we're just alone we can use our real names. It makes me feel good when she calls me Debbie.

Anyway, like I was trying to say, the lemons makes us focus on a particular subject for each floor of the building. The second floor question is, "What do you lust for?" So I've been thinking about it for a few days. What do I lust for?

I was thinking about the question when I spotted someone I never thought I'd see again. Right before joining Choose Happiness, I slept with some guy at a bar. I don't remember his name and he was gone before I woke up. I still feel icky just thinking about it. What a stupid mistake. I never did stuff like that.

This guy - he is here! At the program!! I saw him during fulfillment at another table. He didn't look good. Super pale, especially for a black guy. He could barely lift his fork. I avoided eye contact because I was embarrassed. What do you say to a one-night-stand that is apparently just as depressed at you are? Lucy would not stop making fun of me for it. "I know exactly who you lust for," she taunted.

"Been there, done that," I joked back.

I knew I needed to at least talk to him. I wanted to make sure he was okay. Plus... I kind of wanted to ask if he had any STDs. We didn't exactly use a condom when we slept together...

The next day, I found him standing by the library (P.S., the library is just a series of shelves with pamphlets on random things. No actual books.). I approached him slowly. I didn't want to freak him out. "Hey there, um, do you remember me?" I tried to smile but I'm sure it looked more confused than 'happy.'

He slowly raised his eyes to my gaze. His smile never wavered. "Of course, I remember you. I'm #116." His voice was raspy but soft.

"I just wanted to say hello since we're in this program thing together. They call me #104." I honestly have never felt so awkward before. I realized that his periwinkle scrubs had a large stain near his crotch. Just like some of the others.

He took a step toward me. "I am actually leaving today! I have Chosen Happiness!"

"Damn, good for you!" Something was wrong with him. I couldn't place a finger on it. "I wish I knew how to get out."

He stumbled a little on his feet. "My problem was lust, #104. It was the incident with you that put me over the edge. But the Agents... they helped me. They showed me the way. I can finally rest."

I put a hand on his arm, trying to help him remain steady. "I'm so glad they helped you. But we just had a one-night-stand. Was that all it took?"

"I was lustful, #104."

"Please, my name is Debbie."

"NO!" he yelled and backed up against the wall. I was stunned. "No names. No names."

"I'm sorry, I just -"

"They fixed me. I'm better now. The thing is gone. I can't do it again, even if I wanted to. I am Happy. HAPPY." I saw a lemon out of the corner of my eye walking toward us.

"What thing is gone?" I asked, but I knew. I saw the stain and I knew.

"My lust."

The lemon reached us and took #116 by the arm. "Are you causing trouble, #104?" Her words were angry, despite the joyful look on her face.

"Uh, no. No. Sorry."

The lemon escorted #116 away. I watched them, unable to close my mouth. They... maimed him. And he is happy about it? I looked around and saw others with similar stains. They were cutting off people's... all in the name of happiness?

I booked it back to my catcher and curled up. I didn't realize what I had gotten myself into. This was a serious program. I didn't want what happened to #116 to happen to me. God, no, anything but that. I think I was crying because my pillow was getting wet. I remembered something a lemon told me recently. "It gets worse before it gets better."

Lucy entered and sat on my catcher. She stroked my hair. "You finally realized what this floor is for."

"How could they do this? I don't want that!"

"Sh, sh. They'll hear you." Her voice was soft and calming. "They don't do it to everyone. Only people who have lust problems. They castrate the men and... separate the clit from the women. But don't worry. I don't think lust is your issue."

I sat up and stared at her. "Am I safe here?"

She frowned. Carefully, she pulled up the sleeve of her top to reveal a scattering of scars. "When you're this depressed, there is no safe place. So I guess this is as safe as anywhere else."

I can't sleep. I keep imagining the lemons holding me down, forcing my legs open. Did they go in with a smile? Did they know what was going to happen to them? I'm going to stop writing for the night. Even if I do sleep, I'm only going to have nightmares. I'll end this entry by answering the question the lemons asked me. What do I lust for?

I lust for answers.

 

[Optimist #104 was successfully moved from the second floor to the third without incident. #116 was released into the holding pen for washing, but was deemed too dangerous to the progress of #104. #116 was eradicated directly afterward. His remains were recycled into the fulfillment program.]