You would think, by now, that I would know whats coming and how to deal with it when it happens. But it doesn’t matter how many reminders I set myself, how many alerts that go off counting down the week before I know it’ll happen, somehow I still don’t expect it. It happens, to everyone on a different day and yet always at the same time. Exactly six months after your birthday, slap bang in the middle of your birth year. It helps, I guess, not to plan any important things on those days, like getting married. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than realising I’d planned my own wedding on that day. But, I like to think that I’ve seen it all. I’ve gone through losing my sight, my hearing, taste and smell at different points and I’ve come to accept that. I know how to deal with those, and it’s just for a day right? How bad can it be? I thought I’d seen it all, but turns out … I was wrong. My alarm blared, loudly as I woke groggily to the sound of it blaring out. My first thoughts of dawning comprehension being that I had both hearing and sight, a slight breath of relief leaves my lips - I’d always found those two the worst to deal with. I can live without tasting and without smelling things for a day. It’s just a day … that’s all I’d have to deal with, I’d just have to avoid my favourite places to eat, not use any of my expensive perfume neither of which were exactly a hardship. Reaching out, I went to switch the alarm off, hearing the soft ‘thud, thud, thud’ of my fingers as they hit the surface of my phone and yet … nothing’s registering. I can’t feel anything, as the soft ‘thudding’ continues and only then does it register. I sit bolt up right in bed, swearing under my breath as I reach out again to tap at my phone, this time seeing where I’m aiming to switch the damn thing off. Silence descends, and as I see my fingers connect with the phone, I feel … nothing. It’s only then that it dawns on me, I feel nothing. I can’t feel the soft fabric of my pyjama’s or my sheets. I can’t feel the sensation of my hair dangling down over my shoulders, I can’t feel the sensation in my throat as I swallow, I can’t feel … anything. I can see the indentation of my body in the sheets, in the mattress. I can even see my palms pressing down into the softness of it, leaving the puffed up edges of the sheets around my fingers. A soft growl of frustration leaves my lips at that, as I attempt to stand up. My feet planted firmly on the floor and yet … I feel nothing. My brain yelling at me, screaming at me to stop and not do what I so desperately want to do, something that has for so many years come so naturally to me. My legs wobble, I see them shaking as my brain starts to instinctively react to the situation. I lurch forwards, reaching for my dressing table to latch onto, the palms of my hands slapping down onto it as I fall to the floor. It’s a strange sensation, as I find myself on the floor. Almost like I’m floating, I’m there and yet I feel nothing. I can’t feel the hardness of the floor beneath me, I can’t feel the uncomfortable sensation of the crumpled heap that I’ve become, a soft groan escapes my lips as I realise, I don’t know it all. I don’t know all that there is to come when it comes to this day, once a year, where I lose one of my senses. I don’t know everything there is to know about it. I thought I’d seen the worst of it, looking at only the superficial. But then, I realise, that’s me - I’ve only ever looked at the superficial, I’ve never looked past it. This is a lesson, I’ve come to realise, a lesson against my own cocky arrogance at thinking I know everything. Today, I have learned that I know nothing.

“What do you mean, you’ve got all your senses?” Adam asked, frowning at me over his walnut cake and coffee. I picked a walnut off his cake and chewed on it as I looked around the beer garden. The pub was more raucous than usual, everyone excited to share what they were ‘lacking’ this year. People around me laughed as they struggled to find their pints in front of them, using their hands to ‘feel’ what was on their table. Others were using impromptu sign language to convey they couldn’t hear nor understand what their companions were saying. Senseless Day came only once a year and it came with trepidation for some, reverence for others, and, strangely, excitement for a fair few too. I never got that part. Why would you be excited to lose a sense? Still, for some people, I guess it was an adventure of sorts. And as I sat there watching people gesticulating about their mishaps of the day, I couldn’t help but wonder why *I* hadn’t lost a sense today too. “I can see, I can hear,” I said, “I can feel, smell, and taste.” I shrugged and took a swig of my freshly made lemonade. “Huh,” Adam said, watching me as though I was some sort of curious experiment, “maybe you’ll make the news. Katie Tulip keeps all five senses on the Senseless Day.” And then it happened. Suddenly, I felt an intense heat behind me, almost painful. Flames and muffled screams invaded my senses, to the point where I ducked low in my seat and covered my ears. But just as suddenly as the sensation overcame me, it disappeared. I looked behind me - nothing. Everyone was carrying on about their day as though nothing had happened. “You alright?” Adam asked, a bemused smile on his face, “What’s the matter?” “You didn’t feel that? You didn’t hear?” “No, what?” But Adam’s words were drowned out by a huge explosion. I was thrown forwards into Adam, who tumbled backwards. Pandemonium struck, people screaming, others lying on the floor moaning or unconscious. And what I had just experienced played a second time, but this time the millisecond experience stretched out, without ending. And this time, it was real. — The man in the white lab coat peered over his glasses at me. We sat in a clinical, white room with no windows, but flooded with full-spectrum light that mimicked the sun, so bright that it hurt my eyes. “And to confirm…. these premonitions… they’ve remained ever since?” I nodded and bit my lip. I’d experienced premonitions ever since that day. Sometimes it was seconds before, like in the beer garden. Sometimes it was days before, or even weeks, months. There was no way to tell. “You’re a rarity, Ms Tulip. A rarity indeed. Only a handful of your kind exist in the world.” “My kind?” I asked. “Indeed. You see, people think that Senseless Day is about people losing a sense. It is harrowing for some. For others it garners respect for their disabled counterparts who must navigate their lives without that sense every day. But for a very few, it ignites a new sense - a sixth sense, if you will. And for you it is premonition.” “There are others… like me?” I asked, feeling a sense of relief. “Yes,” the man said, sitting back in his seat, “in that they develop extraordinary abilities on Senseless Day. But their ‘senses’ vary. The good news, is that you will be trained to harness your powers, Ms Tulip. To use your gifts for good.” He stood up, and handed me some sort of welcome pack, “You’ll be staying at the Institute from now on. Your induction begins tomorrow. Be ready in the foyer at 8am tomorrow. Everything you need to know is in the pack there.” He looked at his watch and gestured towards the door, “Now if you don’t mind, I have another appointment to attend.” I stood up and hesitated, “Wait, I never agreed to attend any institute.” The man walked over to the door and smiled grimly, “Oh that wasn’t a request, Ms Tulip.” I watched in horror as two armed guards entered the room. “Ms Tulip, please come with us.” I had no choice, he said. Well, that was five years ago. And I’m here to tell you, that I did. And I still do.

It was one of those mornings when I didn’t want to get out of bed. Buried under a pile of blankets, I reached behind the headboard and pushed open the window. Cool Autumn air drifted into the bedroom onto my face. The light patter of raindrops fell upon the fallen leaves in my yard. The sound was hypnotic. I wanted nothing more than to remain enveloped in the blanketed fortress of warmth. I opened my eyes and thought about the day that lay before me. There was an important sales pitch scheduled with a potential client, one I had wooed for weeks. If successful, the coup guaranteed a promotion. Hopeful thoughts of what might be were interrupted once I noticed the paddles affixed to the ceiling fan were missing, as was the fan itself, and the ceiling. I was shrouded in darkness. “Dammit, of all days,” I thought. It was the sense I feared losing the most. Self sufficient and living alone, my lifestyle required the ability to see. Losing the other senses in previous years had proven debilitating but manageable. Without the inability to see, my life would be meaningless. It was a conclusion that struck me a decade earlier, after researching the potential complications that could arise if my diabetes was left unaddressed. I would rather lose a limb than my eyesight. It was a staunch belief that culminated in the decision to end my life if blindness ever occurred. Promises like that, though, are easy to make when there isn’t a gun in your hand and you still have twenty twenty vision. Conspiracy theorists had long speculated why the population was afflicted by the annual loss of one of the five senses. The theory that made the most sense, even though there was the least amount of proof, was that it was a test orchestrated by God. A way to teach empathy to the heathens who occupied the world He created long ago. It could have been how the dinosaurs became extinct. I can’t image a blind Tyrannosaurus Rex would have lasted very long. I hadn’t temporarily lost my vision before but assumed it would happen eventually. A few times, in preparation, I walked around my house wearing a sleep mask, to practice the maneuverability of the floorpan. It always made me feel like I was attending a slumber time costume party. Frustrated, I gave up on the practice sessions, something I now wished hadn’t been the case. In the very least, I knew where the bathroom was located, in relation to the bed, and walked with confidence across the room. My self assuredness disappeared when I walked into the wall. At least I didn’t trip into the shower or shove a toothbrush up my nose. Making breakfast proved difficult as well. I tried to make a microwaved cheese omelette but instead of cracking the eggs against the edge of the bowl, I shattered the shells atop the counter. Cleaning up the mess was a challenge as well. Absent minded, I resigned myself to picking up breakfast at a local drive thru restaurant. When I realized I couldn’t see where my keys had been left, it struck me that driving would be impossible. I telephoned a co-worker for a ride but he lost his hearing and couldn’t hear my request. Another friend heard his phone ring but lost his ability to speak. Having never utilized a taxi or ride sharing service, I wasn’t certain if either was available in the rural area my house was located. It felt like the expanse of my home had been reduced to however far my arms reached. Anything beyond my grasp had disappeared along with my eyesight. It didn’t exist. The simplest tasks, which had long been taken for granted, became unattainable. It was everything I feared it would be, only much worse. Sitting in the dark, paranoia began to invade my thoughts. What would happen if this wasn’t just for the day? If my eyesight never returned? How would I survive? In past years, I hadn’t asked myself these same questions when other senses disappeared. I dealt with the inconvenience and moved on. Losing the ability to see, however, had generated genuine fear within me. Without knowing why we were stripped of our senses every year, I couldn’t be certain that my vision would be restored when the day was over. What if it was a permanent condition? Panic stricken, I dropped to my knees and prayed for the return of my sight. All of my possessions became fair trade in the negotiations that followed. I promised to do better, to be better, to never take for granted the vision that was taken from me. I was willing to give anything for my sight to be restored. Hours went by, still on my knees, until I crawled back to the bedroom and passed out from exhaustion. When I awoke the following morning, the darkness of the unlit room made it impossible to differentiate between the dark colored carpeting and the walls. It was 3:00 am. I reached behind the headboard and pushed aside the curtains. Faint rays of moonlight filtered through the window and created an array of shadows. I stood up and stretched, then took note of the time with a casual disregard. After entering the bathroom, I picked up the sleep mask that had been discarded on the counter and tossed it into the wastebasket. “Being blind wasn’t that bad,” I rationalized with callous nonchalance. “Since I survived the day then anyone else should be able to.” My eyesight restored, there was no reason to dwell on the situation. Any empathy from the previous day was cast aside. No lessons had been retained. Life continued no different than it had always been. It would be another year before I gave the subject any more thought. The issue would only be worried about on the day a sense was stripped from me and not a second sooner.

Well it’s that time of year again. The one day we all dread. The one we wish we can escape but ultimately can’t. Tonight I’m going to bed with all five of my senses. Tomorrow brings a new day with only four. Which four you ask? Well that’s up to them to choose. I hate having to live under their rule. We’re only here for their experiments and their research. They don’t care about saving us. They just want to play with us. And this is one way of doing just that. The last three years I’ve lost my hearing. One year it was my smell and another year it was my touch. I know it’s only for a day, but it’s what they put us through that really makes it hard. I used to be able to sleep through most of it in the beginning, but now I just stay awake and wait for it. Much like a kid anticipating Christmas morning, I anticipate figuring out what I can’t do. It’s now eleven fifty-nine, only sixty seconds away from a whole other experience. Midnight. A new day. The day. Remember how I mentioned I stay awake to know what I can’t do. Within a matter of a minute and a brand new day, I went from clear eyes to no sight. This is a new one for me. I guess the last three years are going to pay off with my sharpened sense of hearing. But they won’t make it easy on us. Here’s how it goes, whichever sense you lose, they make sure to harm your other four alongside it. Since I lost my sight, I now have to navigate around the room to find a way out. I must do this task with music blaring from the speakers, the most horrid smell that’s tastable being aired into the vents. And the feeling of itchy skin all over. The purpose of all this you ask. It’s not research like they say it is, or studies to help us survive , it’s really for their enjoyment only. They love to watch us suffer, and even place bets on who’s the better human. This is their hell and we’re just the measly little humans they play with.

I woke up and it felt like…I was floating. Out of blurry eyes I could see that I was in bed. My once warm blankets wrapped around me. But I felt detached. What is going on? I move my arm, relieved they could still move. And I pull up the blanket to my nose. The smell of cotton fills my nose. I pull the blanket back down and look around the room. Remembering the day. “Touch?” I ask myself. “I thought touch would mean that I couldn’t feel with my hands.” But this was so much worse. Moving made me want to throw up. I couldn’t feel the edge of the bed with my leg but I could see it. So it had to be real. Right? I’m able to stand but I would much rather be laying down. I know the ground is under my feet. But I can’t feel it. I try walking down the hallway. But, in order to move, I have to keep my eyes on the floor. I practice staring straight ahead and end up stumbling into the wall. I sigh, feeling slightly panicked. I hated this feeling. I loved feeling the air conditioner on my skin when I woke up in the morning. The morning breeze as I walked to the bus stop. The warmth from the sun just before it got too hot. I don’t want to experience that loss. I make it to my nightstand across the room where my cell phone charges. I call my boss and inform them that I cannot make it into work today. Once doing so, I lay back in bed. Well, as scary as it is to lose a sense, I can at least try to relax today.

Ten more minutes. Ten minutes and all hell breaks loose. My phone pings and I’m scared to look, it’ll just be another “good luck” message from another scared friend ready to lose… something for 24 hours. If you’re lucky it’s smell. Nobody knocks losing their sense of smell for a day. The clock ticks down and I’m hyper aware of the senses I cherish most. I’ve lost hearing the most and I hope for that again. Sight… I remember one year when I was a small child my sight went on Sense Day, mum said I’d spent the first 12 hours crying as she juggled her own loss of smell. I’ve lost touch just the once and it’s the sense that scares me the most. There’s a scar up my leg, brutal and harsh from the last time. Midnight comes and my focus softens. My eyes strain in the artificial light as I try to see, try so hard to fight the inevitable loss of sight. Within minutes it’s gone. All is dark. I grope around to keep my bearings as I stand and ready myself for the coming hours.

I wake up to the sounds of birds Chirping in the glow of morning this begins to shock me as dread begin wash over me as I realize what day it is. Eyes check and begin to smell check I then take a piece of chocolate from my nightstand and eat it and though I can taste the chocolate I can’t feel it from my hand to my mouth. I begin to check by slapping my forehead than over and over again after which I give in to the current reality “touch gone it could be worse” I say as I begin reading the senses book. “Those who cannot feel on this day should avoid biting the tongue and avoid doing activities that require you to feel to avoid feeling depressed” I said out loud I put the page down and begin to get dressed for the day it’s interesting not feeling anything not feeling the clothes draw on your body not feeling the scrunchy on my hair so so weird Then begins walking is another strange thing it’s like I’m walking on air but also not so glad this is happening on a weekend and not a school day could you believe what would people say I would make my moniker the ice queen a literal thing After experiencing the sensations of walking downstairs I talk to my mom who can’t hear me so she spoke to me through a notebook “ I’m sorry Sammy food is on the table if you want it yes just pop tarts and eggs today still trying to get over this” the letter said I write back “that’s OK I can’t feel by the way so it’s a little dangerous to eat something super solid right now” I try going throughout the day like this it was normal but weird aside from going on a brief juice diet with a couple of chocolates not much strange happened until three hours before 12 AM. (Sorry guys I’m gonna have to cut it here today)

"In the movie, The Purge, a person with some sense survives by locking themselves in the house and not leaving until morning. So why the heck does someone always...I mean always...get caught on the street far from the safety of their home on purge night. It makes no sense." Geneva was raging. Raging and not raging were her two states. She was either raging mad about something or simply did not care. Kim hated the raging states and she was desperately thankful they didn't happen often. She tried to explain, "You know it's a movie, right? If someone didn't get stuck on the street after the curfew, then the credits would be rolling 5 minutes after the movie started." Geneva wasn't satisfied. "It doesn't make sense," she said. She slapped her hands together on each word. Kim sighed. She put her hands over her eyes and covered her lips. One deep breath later, she asked, "Neva, what's your point?" "That is my point. I got no idea what I might lose tonight...hearing, tasting, smelling. Whatever it is, I want to be home when it's gone. Move faster please." Kim wondered why she asked Geneva to join her, especially on this day of all days. It was annual Appreciation Day, but it was also a Friday. On Fridays Kim visited GiGi. Her great grandmother, GiGi, was the only family she had and she intended to keep every promise to her until the day came when she couldn't. She promised GiGi she would visit every Friday no matter what. . At 72, GiGi was able to take care of herself better than anyone during Appreciation Day, but Kim was committed to bringing her Friday dinner from Cannibals, an American food restaurant, which carried GiGi's favorite burger. Sometimes she'd bring a burger; sometimes something else. It didn't matter. She just needed to see GiGi's face to know her life wasn't so lonely, even with Geneva as a friend. It was a shame Appreciation Day was today. She wanted to spend more time with GiGi but Geneva was right. Appreciation Day was a day where, by law and medical intervention, we all lost a sense so we could learn to appreciate the small things in life. Last year, Kim lost touch and put a third-degree burn on her finger. But she couldn't see a doctor until the next morning. That was a miserable night. She didn'tneed Appreciation Day to appreciate all the senses God blessed me with. We arrived at GiGi's house, with Kim still citing the possible list of things you risked without the sense of taste. "Bananas. I got a bunch. Can't enjoy them tonight if I lose taste. Leftover creme Brule. Might as well throw it out. Water. Forget it. If it has a metalic hint I just have to gobble it down." "Water has no taste, Neva." "Yes it does. Iron. It tasts's like iron" She shook my head and pushed the key into the lock on GiGi's front door. Swinging it open to let Geneva walk through, She called to GiGi. But there was no answer.

I hate the dark. It scares me. A difficult thing to admit. It shouldn’t. I am an adult, after all. Only children should be afraid. Only children should have nightlights. Only children should fear what could be lurking in the shadows. Sometimes I wish I could just overcome it. I contemplate what would happen if I turned off all the lights at night when I went to bed. The thought itself makes my skin crawl. My heart race. Even if I were brave enough to do so, I wouldn't last long. Couldn't. My mind wouldn't allow it. Even if there weren't monsters waiting for me, my imagination would conjure something just as horrific. I’m sure of it. The mind is an interesting thing. Much more powerful than most give it credit. Especially in the dark. I've gone my whole life fearing the day my sight will be taken from me. Rationalizing that it'll only be for a day does nothing for my anxiety. Five minutes was too long. Twenty-four hours? Unspeakable. So when that day approached, l went to bed praying it’d be another sense. I'd gladly give up any other for a week if i it meant I could choose to keep my sight. I didn't want to face what was in the dark. Everyone and their brother told me there was nothing there. Nothing was waiting for me. But when I woke that day to a world of shadow, I discovered how very wrong everyone was.

Zeke couldn’t stand the day. It was the worst every time. “At least it’s only one day,” his mom always said, but still she complained when she lost her sight, her hearing … whatever might happen. She just couldn’t let him complain no matter what the cause. Midnight struck and he lay awake. Thankfully, his sight didn’t go. His alarm clock ticked in the corner so it wasn’t his ears either. He got up, heading to the kitchen to check if it was his sense of taste. On the way, he passed his mother’s room. She wasn’t there. Oh, he’d lost his sixth sense. He’d see his dear departed mother again tomorrow.