Classified Transcript: Recovered messages in a bottle written by prisoner B-89 on an isolated island (simulation sector HITORI) and prisoner K-72 at the Isolation Studies Lab (ISL), as part of a social experiment conducted in 2009. In 2011, ISL was disbanded because of legal issues with the memory loss program.
HOPE
The sea never answers.
At every rise of dawn, while the crickets are still chirping, I head to the assigned shoreline and admire them. My lovely children (colorful messages in glass bottles) are lined up like soldiers, their throats glinting with words I begged the ocean to carry away.
The island keeps me.
The sea refuses me.
I still don’t exactly remember what my crime was. Whether I drove a knife into my sister or my mother–or whether it was even a knife, or a hatchet. Though I don’t know where I would’ve found a hatchet. The sea has washed away many things–my name, my family–but it denies me the right to let go of my guilt.
This is the first message I have tossed into the sea. Finally brave enough to let the water, looking like spilled cyan paint, swallow what my mind no longer battles with.
I will write again. Again. Again.
Until I find what will make my boat float.
With hope,
Prisoner B-89
OBSERVATION
Your definition of hope amuses me–as though you believe in it. Optimism is uncommon on Day 345 of isolation, but I am no psychological expert. Most subjects at this stage replace hope with food, water, or questionable language.
I do not have a sea.
You have a sea to swallow your sins. I have bleach-white walls to keep mine.
I am surrounded by walls the color of spoiled milk and security cameras tracking my every step. It is hard to think back to when experiments were only for animals.
You write about forgetting your crime. That is unusual.
I do not forget.
They do not let me.
From observation,
Prisoner K-72
Written at 3:14 PM at ISL Cell 93
PLEA
My soldiers are dying faster than ever now. The sea is hungry. Something must sustain it. My nightmares are getting out of hand; they scare me. Even when the scientists brought me here, I was not scared.
It spoke of a hallway with the number 93. It is deeply unsettling. Cold. Gray. Like spoiled milk–if what I remember even happened at all.
Why would an island have a number? I am the only object here with a number. 89.
It has been too long here. I cannot remember what my life was before, and what I do terrifies me. The shoreline feels as if it is shrinking and suffocating me.
Maybe hope is just another experiment they forgot to log.
With plea,
Prisoner B-89
WARNING
Dreams are a fancy word for delusions that adults use to satisfy children. For us, lights out at 22:00. Not for sleep. They say dreams conflict with accuracy.
You are a murderer, a criminal. Isolation is what suits us best. Do not try to remember. Some memories are better left picking up dust in the corner. I know because I am one too.
My sister is surrounded by dirt with a headstone to prove it. I caused her death, and she’ll cause mine. Plot 14-B–that's how the system files her.
Guilt is a side dish to memories, and from one subject to another, do not eat it.
Your memory at this stage impresses me. It exceeds the average 98% that lose sense of reality by day 200. Perhaps ISL will keep you alive longer. Do not mistake it for a gift. The sweet relief of death will simply be stalled, and you will go more insane by the clock.
Dreams are a luxury for those who plan on surviving.
From warning,
Prisoner K-72
Written at 4:28 PM at ISL Cell 93
IDENTITY
I don’t know who I am anymore. I have been getting more visions and memories–room 93, ISL (whatever it stands for), and someone called K-72. It is almost me. I am it.
Dreams have a funny way of seeming real.
The sweet relief of death would be welcome any time now. I’m waiting.
I shouldn’t trust my dreams, but today I saw the ocean flicker. Like a hologram. I must be going crazy. Insane.
There is hope.
There are dreams. I sound like a child on Christmas morning who just found out they’re on the naughty list. I’ve never cared much for presents, though.
With identity,
Prisoner B-89
EMOTION
Today, the isolated prisoner I have been writing to passed away. It would have happened sooner or later, but my gut twisted.
The island was a simulation, but the prisoner insisted that there was an ocean.
The sea was medicated after all–part of a memory experiment. It would be nice to live long enough to see the look on ISL’s faces when someone discovered their crimes. Oh well. Death cannot be evaded.
Protocol demanded that I be present to confirm the body. I found that particularly suspicious–the ISL is a detached, emotionless organization. They care neither for my happiness nor that prisoner’s life.
They gave me a bottle of water to drink under the sun’s burning glare, and although I probably should not have, I drank it as thirst got the best of me.
Was it my sister or my mother that I had killed?
With emotion,
Prisoner K-72
Written at 7:12 PM, at the island of HITORI
MEMORY
I had another dream today. I sense death nearing and the only thing I remember is:
You are assigned.
You are observed.
You are B-89 now.
There is no K-72.
FINAL REPORT// FILE: T-L9// STATUS: TERMINATED
Subject: Akir Johnson
Age: 24
Aliases: B-89, K-72
Crime: Subject killed his sister under ISL influence. He was later taken to the lab as a viable candidate for Experiment Isolde (controlled memory fracture trials).
Notes: Subject was transferred from ISL Cell 93 to simulation sector HITORI for Phase IV of the Experiment Isolde. The subject maintained a belief in a “sea” despite no water sources being present in the sector.
Death: Subject expired soon after the last message he wrote, on April 12th, 2009, due to dehydration. Time of death: 19:21.
Important: On April 13th, 2009, a message in a bottle was found inside cell 93, and scanners detected traces of seawater. No water was authorized in Cell 93.
It held evidence of ISL’s illegal memory washing and caused ISL’s court case in 2011.
It is unknown who collected the evidence and left the bottle.
There was only one note:
The sea never answers.
There was no sea.
There never was.
But something answered.