Cold air, deep breath; taking in the morning light and that it was morning at all. He stretched his arms over his head and his face pulled outward at every muscle, lips parting as largely as possible into a smile he had not requested. An attempted sigh became a choking sound. Although, the corners of his eyes pulled downwards in protest, they were fixated upon the cloudy day outside of the window and an image of the birds perching on the telephone wires was all he could imagine as he swung his legs over the side of his small bed and held in another deep breath.

He could remember the day vividly, although he did not consider it often. In his orientation therapy, which he had graduated, he was taught to avoid discussing the turmoil in which he would continue the rest of his life. It was a normal day, he described, and considered further describing that every day felt normal and every day thereafter would remind him of this day; t for effort to remain positive he simply disclosed the grander details. As he walked to school, an easy venture, no thought or concern of the future for placement in his father's company would suffice his financial well-being; looking back now he wonders if he could feel a difference in the air around his neighborhood. Had he misstepped in such a way to invoke this fate? These were private questions. And so trained on being thoughtless, he simply knew himself enough to know the twinge of anxiety in his memories. The perplexities that would populate if this day was not forgotten. The long, powder blue car came out of nowhere, and listening to crime shows and watching movies helped him accept that he was just a victim; they all said that, if they survived. The man that got out of it was tall, as usual, and even at his age then he did not dissociate and was able to describe him without exaggerating the mans body shape, and that was all that was visible because the man was covered in black from head to toe; so precise, in this kidnapping, that to this day the idea of him having covered his shoes was terrifying; as a man now, impressive. He did not scream and admitted defeat as the man pushed him into the vehicle. He emerged from the vehicle, door held open by the man who made not one sound and directly entered a modernized warehouse that's only theme was that of a doctor's office. The man lifted the boy onto the surgical table, he strapped his arms and legs in and reached around to the boy's face to stretch each muscle as wide as the small hole in the table would allow. Surgical tape held these muscles in place. The man then spoke and must have known that a simple statement would never be forgotten: "You will never smile on your own again". He felt a pinch and warmth in his arm and near his ankle and quickly began drifting off into sleep; his mind not allowing him to forget where he was, as he thought of the blue sky and clouds where he had been, so close to his school.

The pain in the back of his head was excruciating. His face fell slack and he no longer felt a pull at his eyebrows or lips. The man handed the boy a black medical bag, he would not know what they contained until he was unstrapped. He laid in the backseat and the man handed him a sheet of paper containing three sentences:

1. You will not emote what I will not allow

2. You will be in an enormous amount of pain and must inject 1 needle in your tongue every night until they are gone

3. You may tell anyone about what has happened to you

The boy folded the paper in half and the man slammed on his brakes. The man dropped the boy off in front of his house. He walked in and sat at the dining room table. Besides what had happened, for who knows how long it had been, something was wrong inside the house. He was not weak physically, but felt defeated and would carry on with this emotion probably forever. The calendar was near by but not worth checking, the phone was not blinking with messages from his school and he swallowed the truth, even before reading the note. He wondered if he would be able to drink a cup of water. After learning about the nervous system, he knew something was very different with how much he could control himself now. He wanted to sigh, and could but he felt neither stress nor relief. He got the glass of water and unfolded the paper in shock and complacency.

His parents never came home. He never went back to school. At 18 years old, they were prepared to tell him the story of the man called the Experimenter. His orientation towards acceptance was barely tolerable and it had been years since even the mailman came by. He realized in his empty home, the longer he sat there in silence and slowly picked at the freezer's contents, the more the emotions and pain in his head ceased. He never attempted to kill himself nor thought of it, he realized some thoughts would cause pain and lack of the needles from years before were not worth antagonizing his previous instruction. Sometimes, at night, he tried to cry but could not. If he did, the strings would pull into a gaping smile; as if someone was there to receive it.

He found solace in the therapist lady as she told him, that every day might seem just the same; but his emotions must have been worth keeping track of.