Everyone is born with senses. But you don’t get all of them until you turn 18. Some are born with a few, while others get one, or sometimes not any. I was one of the unlucky ones. I was born with touch, that’s it. I didn’t think the other senses were all that important, considering I’d lived 18 years without them. Until that morning, I never understood how amazing this life can be.

I woke up to my someone walking into my room. It’s my birthday. I’m 18. I don’t know how to feel about this. I mean, I can “see”. Before, all I saw was a blurry black void. Now, it’s very bright. A woman sits down on the side of my bed, carrying a tray of cake. I’d had cake before, and all it was was textured mush. But this time, the cake looks quite appetizing. And I can, “smell” it. It smells amazing! Now I’m excited.

The woman (my mother) gives me a sweet smile. I’d never seen how beautiful she was. “Happy birthday sweetie” she says in a soft voice, tears streaming down her face. I smile back at her. I’d never heard her voice either. “Thank you, mom” I say slowly, realizing I can hear my own words. Before today, I could speak, but it was very slow, and hard to understand.

Suddenly, I get excited. I wonder what else these new senses can do! “Guys, get in here!” My mom shouts, startling me. A man and a teenage boy come in. My father and brother. They look so much different then what I had imagined, but they were perfect. They look at me with pure happiness in their eyes, and we all start tearing up.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to youuuu! Happy birth-day dear Kianaaaaaa! Happy birthday to youuu!”

Even though I thought that these new senses wouldn’t be all that great, I was wrong. All of that waiting, for my 18th birthday, was definitely worth while.

(Probably a bit short but I can always add to it later down the line)

The first sensation I can ever feel and it is cold? Surely I could’ve got a better feeling like that. Apparently being warm is nice, but being tired is bad. This is all new to me, I’m young compared to my friends by all accounts so they have been feeling for months more than me, its finally my turn.

At least it wasn’t heartbreak, Alex got heartbreak and he has never been the same since. If the cold means I can stay sane then I am all for being cold. If I’m cold, I can go and sit by the fire, if I’m heartbroken thats a lot harder to fix.

Sitting in the garden fixes my problem of being cold and gives me a glimpse of hope that this will be good, its still the first day after all. There is one thing I am hoping to avoid though, pain.

Pain comes and goes too much, pain is basically a constant, it just depends how hard it hits

• Cal :)

i woke up, didn’t even open my eyes, and i knew something was wrong. then it hit me. it’s my eighteenth birthday. i’ve been dreading this day. i cant handle change. i hate change. i’ve learned to live without sight, why begin to see now? i open my eyes, and everything is so, bland. i knew i would hate it, and i do. on my journey down the stairs, i realize that this is much easier. “mom,” “happy birthday, laura!” “thanks mom, but i hate sight.” she frowns. “why? i love it.” “yeah well i’m not you. i thought it would be colorful. that’s what they taught me in elementary.” her eyes widen. “oh, it is colorful. you’re colorblind. oh, no, no, no.” “i cant see color?” i almost screech. “no, you cant.” “can i get it fixed?” “no, you cant.”

People tell me not to overlook what I have. Not to wait for what’s to come, but enjoy what I can already experience. I think that’s a load of crap. How can you honestly enjoy life when you know you won’t be your full self until you turn 18? My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock that seemed to rattle inside my throbbing head. “Who is it?!” I asked, annoyed. The door was cracked open, and my sister’s head popped out. “It’s me, you jerk,” she said with a smirk. “I wanted to ask if you were excited for your big day.” I rolled my eyes. How could I possibly not be excited? “What do you think?” “Who knows with you? The last time you were excited was when you got your sight.” “Well it would make sense for me to be excited at the moment, now wouldn’t it?” I pointed to my mouth. “I’m finally getting the missing piece of myself.” “Listen, dude; getting your taste is awesome at first, I’m not gonna lie. But it’s not gonna fill that hole you seem to have. Just remember that.” She whipped out finger guns and made a clicking sound with her mouth as she walked backwards out of my room. “Close the door!” I yelled to her as she left. She dragged her feet back to the doorway and slowly pulled the door. “Right, right, got it.” When the door clicked back into place, I rolled my eyes and scoffed. The nerve of her, trying to tell me what will fill my holes and what won’t.

WIP

I was so excited to be awake this morning. In twenty-three short minutes I will be eight-teen. I watched the clock as my mother set the table with every food she could possibly buy. I looked at it all with great anticipation.

“Now remember son, you can’t eat everything. Just a bite from each, okay?”

She was so worried I would be in pain, whatever that is. I hear it’s miserable, but I’ve never felt pain, or smelled, or tasted!

“I know mom, don’t worry.”

She chuckled never once looking up from the table as she arranged the food. Some of it looked beautiful, while others not so much. There was this one fluffy white bowl, I think she called it whipped cream? I don’t know, just looked weird.

“Mom, do you think I’ll like my senses?”

I was a little nervous about the whole thing, life as I knew it was about to change. I wanted them, sure, but what if I didn’t like them? My older brother walked into the room and smacked my back as hard as he could, I laughed because he always did this.

“Just wait ten minutes, you won’t find that funny anymore.”

He started laughing as he went to help our mom bring stuff out. I looked on curious, but then my eyes returned to the table piled high with food.

The minutes finally ticked down to one, everyone was counting, 50… 45… 32… 21… 13… 5… 3… 2… 1…

“ARGH!!!”

I screamed, my brother had hit me harder than it had sounded, the first sense I felt was pain. Instantly I wanted to go back to nothing. I shot him a look that he would be dead, but he only laughed harder. This is not how I wanted to start things.

There was a strange comfort in not knowing what people looked like, in not knowing the appearance of society's standards. But all of that was about to change.

"This is your alarm for 8:00 AM," my cellphone chirps.

I keep my eyes closed just a little longer, not wanting to know what vision is like.

"Happy 18th Birthday, Jeremy," my AI assistant chimes from my nightstand.

"No," I groan, burying my face into my pillow.

"Jeremy! Come downstairs," my mom yells.

I grumble, roll out of bed, change clothes, and maneuver my way downstairs all while keeping my eyes closed. My trusty cane and guide dog lead the way.

"Jeremy, honey, you can see now. You don't need your cane and Cisco can just be a regular dog now," my mom says, trying to pull my cane from my hand.

"Mom, no. I know not being able to see has its downsides but I prefer liking people for who they are instead of judging them based on their appearance first and as soon as I open my eyes all of that is going to change," I cry.

"Sweetheart, no it won't."

"How do you know? You couldn't feel and dad couldn't smell. That didn't exactly drastically affect how people viewed you or how you viewed other people," I say, opening my eyes for the first time out of frustration.

The woman I assume is my mother stands in front of me dumbfounded. Crystal blue eyes staring up at me with blonde hair framing her face perfectly. Society's ideal, so I've heard from my best friend, one of the few that can't hear.

My best friend has told me all about colors and described things in such depth that I never needed to see. I never wanted to. I still don't want to but I have to.

"I know what it's like to be discriminated against, Jeremy. Do you even know how hard it was raising a child that couldn't see? One of the rarest losses. You have no idea the looks of shame and disgust I got," she screams, tears filling her eyes.

"And you have no idea what it felt like to have people talk about you behind your back thinking you can't hear. You have no idea what it's like being singled out because you have to have an aid to get around. You have no idea what I went through," I growl lowly before turning back up the stairs to my room.

I slump down on my bed and grab my phone typing out a text to my best friend.

"I miss you. Any chance you can get away and meet me?" I ask.

"Yeah. Are you okay? I know it's your birthday. How's being able to see finally?" She responds.

"I hate it."

I shove my phone in my pocket and look around my bland room. I grab my hiking bag and use the rope from it to climb out my window. Now that I can see getting around is easier but I still hate the idea of falling for someone's look before getting to know them.

Once I'm at the overlook, I sit and wait. Closing my eyes to better listen for the crunch of the leaves under Paula's feet. Basking in the sunlight on my face, I wait for what feels like hours. I finally hear a twig snap and turn my head, instinctively opening my eyes.

"Hey you," she signs, noticing my eyes on her.

I simply wave back and wait for her to sit. I watch her thick legs jiggle as she walks and her black hair practically floating in the wind. She gently sits on the ground beside me forcing me to face her.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

"I hate knowing that now I'm going to judge someone based on their looks before I get to know them. I hate knowing that you're going to be alone now for a few more months dealing with the hate and negativity," I sign back.

"As long as you don't leave me, I won't be dealing with it alone."

"I'd never."

"Good. Now stop worrying and enjoy being able to see things."

"I'm enjoying seeing you," I sign cockily.

"Flirt," she responds trying to use her voice.

"What about you? How do you feel about using your voice?"

"People will make fun of me but I've got you."

"You've always got me."

We sit there for a while longer just existing together.

Dawn was breaking on Claras 18th birthday. Her memories were hazy from the night before, partially from the generous alcohol intake & otherwise due to her massive overhaul overnight. Something which happened to all pre-pubescent people on their 18th. Usually on this particularly special birthday, growth development would involve elevation & discoveries of the human senses however Clara seemed to have lost her most pivotal one - vision.

Clara panicked. Frantically trying to piece together the segments of her not-long-gone night out. She reminisced of spiralling lights, all colours of the rainbow traversing an otherwise blackened room in a frenzied fashion. Blinks of light blurred every peculiar sight in her memory, the sort of flashes you would expect to be accompanied by tremendously con-currant bangs and cracks - however as Clara had no understandable perception of hearing, her experience was limited to radiant gleams.

The taste of vodka remained potent on her tongue - evidently this was lasting from the night before but it felt different to normal. A mysterious man who had made himself well aquatinted with her had bought a vodka mixer tasting peculiarly different to anything she’d tried before. Memories of the night after this were mushed and mangled, like her intoxication had taken a far more severe turn.

‘SLAM’

A frightening sensation snapped Clara back to reality. The echo from the closing door sharply & swiftly speeded to the farthest crevices of her excited brain, an overwhelming wonder that stretched a second out to a mile.

Footsteps followed.

The entrancing vibrations were exponentially difficult for her to handle - but they were getting seemingly larger & more intimidating through every occurrence, striking an unknown fear.

The End.

[kidnapped - feels 1st time - feels for sharp - removes hand tie & blindfold - ]

[New senses: feel, hear]

NEEDS UPDATE

“You all look so amazing!” Iris said to her friends. “Nothing like what I thought you would. Not that I know what people are supposed to look like anyway.” Her friends laughed. “Hera, what color is your hair, it’s beautiful!”

Hera signed her answer for Aesthesis to translate. “It’s called red.”

“That’s what ‘red’ is? I love it!”

“Can’t you speak now?” Nervosa asked Hera.

Hera signed her answer again. “She can hear now, but speaking will take some time.” Aesthesis waited for the next sentence. “She heard her own sounds today, though. Her own voice. She doesn’t know what any of the sounds of language mean yet, so you’ll need to make sure she can still read your lips, at least for now.” The group watched as Hera’s hands quickly moved through the next sentence. “What about you, Nervosa? Does feeling feel, you know, weird?”

“Totally. Putting on my clothes this morning was the strangest thing. It was like, I don’t know, heavy? Is that the right word? But I like the way my shirt feels.”

“What’s the most surprising thing you’ve felt, so far?”

“Chomper! His fur is so, like, I’m not sure how to say it, it’s what I imagined when I read about warmth and softness. It’s like touching joy, if that makes sense.”

“Totally,” Iris said. “Dogs are the one thing so far that look pretty much like I imagined them.”

“What about you, Aesthesis? What’s been the best thing for you so far?”

“I finally understand all the excitement around birthday parties,” she said with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I gained like a hundred pounds from all the cake and ice cream I ate last night! Taste is by far my favorite sense.”

“Oh, girl, you have no idea. Wait until you finally get to taste pizza.”

“And tacos!”

The group laughed together, enjoying their collective celebration, before Hera signed a question.

“She wants to know if anyone has heard from Olfa.”

They all looked at each other. No one had.

“I wonder where she could be?”

“We should check the library,” Hera signed. The group laughed together and continued to share stories of their new experiences.

On a grassy berm, just outside of the park where her friends were celebrating their 18th birthdays, Olfa sat alone, holding a solitary wildflower to her nose.

It had all been so… overwhelming. She’d knew it was supposed to be, but it was also explained to her from as far back as she could remember that The Sensing was a gift, not a curse. A sacred rite of passage that all young people looked forward to; A final gift, given to them by Mother. It signaled completion, that they were fully-realized beings, ready to start the next stage of their lives. To work, to marry, to procreate.

She also knew that was bullshit.

Olfa, as far back as anyone could remember, was curious. That’s what her father had called her: His “Curious Girl.” While her friends were happy to play and read and laugh and dance—to be kids—Olfa would often sneak away for long walks on her own. She would explore. Observe. Learn.

It was on one of these secret walks that it started to rain and she ducked into the library. It was empty, save for a lone librarian putting away books, and and elderly man in an ancient leather chair trying to read without falling asleep. She had never been to a library before that moment and she immediately felt she never wanted to be anywhere else. It was magic. Where she had only ever known the aesthetically sterile and stagnant nature of The Connection, she marveled at the various shapes and sizes of real, tangible books. Their weight, the way the pages felt as she ran her fingers across them, the gentle ruffle of the page. Where The Connection was limited to the same small, glass and ceramic handheld unit, books varied in size and shape and look depending on the information they contained, the year they were made, the cost of the supplies and available technology at the time dictating so many manufacturing choices (facts she learned from, of course, a book about making books). The Connection gave citizens instant access to everything at all times. Olfa hated that. It created a fear inside her that if she could access everything all at once that she was never really looking deeply at any one thing. It was all too much. Moreover, The Connection was constantly booping and bleeping and raising little red balloons to alert her to new distractions. “How could one ever think deeply using one of these things?” she thought.

Books, on the other hand, were just… books.

They did one thing. Two if there was a spider (an added benefit she discovered while looking in a particularly untraveled area of the library). Conversely, The Connection was run by Mother, and even at a young age, Olfa realized that whoever controls Mother controls information, and that intangible information is changeable information. So, there she spent her time, days upon days, months upon months, years upon years. If her father needed her he simply booped the Librarian via Connection (knowing that Olfa rarely took her’s out of her pocket).

Her friends would some time visit, but would quickly tire of the silence. That was okay with Olfa. They were really only friends of proximity. That’s the way it worked. Born into a Quintet, the girls were more like sisters than friends. They had just always been together for things. School, birthday parties, play-dates, doctor appointments, vaccinations, and the Connection Ceremony, when they were plugged into Mother. Some Quintlings didn’t get on at all, some would go as far as cohabitation. It largely depended on the personalities of their parents.

She wasn’t ready for anything like that. And her father was not one to push it. Olfa’s mother had passed when she was young, and her father was just to the well-adjusted side of anti-social. So, she got used to being alone. And the library provided friendship, warmth, knowledge, therapy.

It also provided something difficult to find under the ever-watchful eye of Mother: Truth.

Olfa remembered the day. It was gorgeous outside. No clouds, not too warm or too cold, spring flowers in full bloom (which meant nothing to her at the time). Whereas everyone else was excited to spend a perfect day outside, Olfa looked at it as a chance to get an already largely-unvisited library even more to herself. And she needed to be by herself is she was going to find out what was in the forbidden area.

She had noticed the area years before—a section marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. It was only because Big George, a member of the custodial staff, inadvertently left the door open that she saw that it was not an office or store room at all, but a hidden section full of more books.

Why were they back there?

What secrets did they hold?

The Curious Girl was determined to do what she did best. For months she waited for just the right time, but there always seemed to be someone around, some sound in the next section, some Connection device booping or buzzing at the wrong time. She chickened out—until that perfect, gorgeous day, that is.

She knew what she’d found before she even started reading.

The History.

The Time Before.

Some truths are well-received. Some are difficult to hear, but necessary. Some, though, bounce back and forth between the desire to know more and the wish to go back to ignorance. That’s where she’d found herself since that day.

She couldn’t escape it, though. It didn’t work that way. So she lived with the burden, the weight of it.

That it wasn’t always this way: The Connection; Mother; The Sensing; Quintlings. None of it.

Once, before, things happened naturally. Couples mated, children were born, friendships and relationships blossomed and faded within the boundaries of natural progression. Knowledge was sought, or not, based on myriad natural progressions of real life.

Before Mother.

Olfa sat on the grass, having now turned 18, having been finally granted her last of the five senses: Smell.

She wasn’t a fan. Not yet, at least. It added too much, too quickly. She loved routine, sameness, stability. That had all been flipped and turned inside out. All of the sudden her house was filled with unfamiliar scents for which she had no previous experience. She didn’t know if coffee smelled delicious or putrid. If what was making her hungry was the scent of bacon or wet dog. Her father warned her, said that The Sensing can be particularly difficult for autistic quintlings, but that the sense-fog would start to lift with time. Her first trip outside—into the three-dimensional haze of infinite scents—made her father’s claim seem dubious. She wanted to get back in bed, to cover her face.

But no. She couldn’t. It didn’t work that way.

So she walked toward the park where she knew her quintmates would be.

There was one blessing: She liked flowers. That was the one scent that, so far, seemed to make it all worth while. She decided she’d have them around all the time. She made a note to check out a book on growing them.

In fact, she thought, maybe she’d go to the library that very minute!

No. She knew she should do the “right thing” and join the rest of her Quintet and discuss their newfound powers, enjoy the day.

So, she stood, looked around, and saw them a few hundred feet away, still in the park.

She wondered what they’d do with the knowledge. How would they react? Would they resent her if she told them? If she let them know the truth: That the very systems that were created, the very method in which they were conceived, birthed, raised, taught, was all artificial. Would they want to know that they had been robbed? That each of them losing one of the five senses was simply a glitch in the software? That, had children still been allowed to be created naturally, save for rare birth defects, they would be allowed all of the gifts they rightfully owned.

Could they stand up against Mother? Could they start a rebellion, bring down the Matriarchy?

Could she?

Olfa looked at her friends. She saw Iris tilt her head back in laughter.

No. She would let them be. What good would it do them now?

She picked another wildflower and lifted it to her nose as she started walking toward the group.

Warm liquid kisses spill in from the window, splaying my cheek in affection. I lay there a moment longer basking in the warmth of the sunlight and savouring the few seconds I have before I need to start the day. I finally roll over, prepared to face the day, when something jarring and frightening peels though the air. The sensation, like undulating vibrations beat painfully against something deep in my skull. I touch my head, then my face, searching for the part of my body that is taking the brute of the discomfort. The sensation comes again, this time much closer, and the nearness of the vibration gives the sensation that the thing- whatever it is that’s assaulting my senses- is moving closer.

I slide to the floor until I am curled up with my knees against my chest, my back to the foot of the bed and my body facing the door. Again and again the sensation repeats itself, shaking me to the core and filling me with such fear that my heart rattles in my chest. Subconsciously, my hands move to cover my ears and it’s only when the sensation dampens, dimming to a dull thud thud thud that realize what must be going on.

It’s my eighteenth birthday. My fifth and final sense must have been unlocked: hearing.

I slowly pull my hands away and then snap them back over my ears quickly, doing the motion again and again, savouring the newness of this sensation. Every time I cover my ears the sensation dims and every time I pry my hands away it is back again, roaring and reverberating in the innermost part of my head.

Finally, when I’ve managed to bear the sound for a full minute without covering my ears, I get up and move to my window to locate the sound. When I look out I see nothing out of the ordinary, just our neighbour fetching his mail, the school kids waiting for the bus, and the dump truck picking up our trash.

But wait.

I watch carefully, finally realizing that the thudding and crashing sound is that of the truck moving from house to house picking up the bins with its huge groaning machinery. I stand and watch in surprise, marvelling at just how loud the thing is.

Next, I notice the birds sitting on the tree in front of our house. Though they are tiny little things, the sound they make travels all the way to my open window. I lean against the window frame and sigh, lulled by their beautiful high trills. Everything -the sounds coming from the children waiting for the bus, the loud shouting from the neightbours dog- all of it makes the scene before me so much more vivid. The view from my window is now so much prettier than before with all the new embellishments added to it.

I sit there a moment longer, drinking in the splendour of the day. But the peace is soon interrupted.

Suddenly, as though a wrecking ball decided to splinter a gaping hole in beautiful portrait before me, an ear shattering sound tears through the air. I cover my ears again, squeezing my eyes shut.

But still the sound pierces through, loud and painful, agonizing and terrifying. I move quickly, running out of my room and bounding down the stairs in search of the source of the sound. That bone chilling, needy scream appears to be close by, close enough to assume it is coming from our home. As I make my way towards the kitchen, where it appears the sound is coming from, my other senses pool in, the familiarity of what they were telling me sending my mind into a frenzy. As if in warning, they push against my skin, urging me to not step into the kitchen.

Theres the scent of something sharp and metallic.

A coppery, salty taste hanging in the air.

The slick wetness of something beneath my feet, soaking into the rug my mother placed in the passageway last week.

Then, as I round the corner, all I see is red. Red smearing the walls and red coating the bottoms of my feet.

Finally, a single plea, screaming, pleading, warning:

“Freya, RUN!”

But I am a stranger to the English language when it is not spoken by hands and motion and so I do not understand quick enough, and I step into the kitchen anyway.

They said this would happen but it just felt too surreal. Lights, colours, shapes surround me as I open my eyes to the world for the first time. The overwhelming feeling that fills my heart causes me to tear up. I wipe at them furiously for fear that will take the magic of today. My room was totally different to what I had imagined. Everything was. I leap out of bed and rush to the mirror, no longer worrying about tripping over one of my fallen pillows. I freeze as I stare at my reflection. My eyes were wide with wonder and elation: I can see it in the sparkle of my very dark brown eyes. I touch the surface of the mirror and watch as my reflection does the same. Amazing.