Organized Chaos

Organized Chaos {/center}

          My name is Leocadia Kanta and I am an Achluophobic. I hardly remember my birthday, sixteen years ago, even though it was before I was afraid of the darkness. Sometimes I look back to that, and I try so hard to remember what it felt like, without the heat of a light, constant and comforting. Just to be in the coolness of the dark. It is a hard thing for me to do, to imagine things like that… to think of a plunge into darkness. A great deal of Achluophobics can and do live with their phobia, but for those of us, who can’t, there are few other options.
          My case is one of four in the US. It is so severe that a good number of doctors have diagnosed it as borderline insanity. I don’t understand where they get that kind of thing from. Other people go into the darkness and it is one thing I doubt I will ever understand. It does not haunt them as it does me I suppose. You could say I keep it low key, few people knew of my fear, I liked to keep it that way…however difficult. Staying out of shadows and sleeping with two lights on tends to call attention and yet few knew why, that was until a year and a half ago.
          As part of the local school’s contest, my art class was designing a mural in the halls near our lunchroom. The lunchroom at my Cincinnati high school was in the basement. We worked on it for hours and hours, eight or nine students at a time, a supervising teacher, all dispersed against the wall. Some lay on the floor, carefully painting along the linoleum, others perched on mix-matched ladders. Just as five o’clock began to roll around It happened. An isolated storm knocked out the power in the school and almost twenty blocks in each direction. I started to run blindly through the dark hall, tumbling through paint bushes and cans, when the teacher grabbed my arms to stop me, so I broke her jaw with a desperate left hook. Needless to say she let go of me. After that my grip on things went down like a penny tossed off of a skyscraper. Spinning around, tumbling farther and farther, faster and faster, until inevitably hitting the ground where it pings along until resting with some genuine disfiguration- that is if it didn’t smash into someone’s skull. I sill don’t know if I’ve hit the bottom yet or am just pinging around… all I know is I’m still spinning. I was expelled from school on grounds of assault, they didn’t believe my self-defense story, let alone the fact that I was in an extra hour of concentrated psychology a week for the next year and a half with an actual reason.
          I skipped from school to school, friends to fewer friends and all the time with a flashlight always in my pocket. My psychologist finally recommenced as a last attempt to control me-an experimental new school somewhere out in the no-where’s land known as Nebraska. I will admit I didn’t know what to expect and neither did my aunt. How could I have?


          It was a gray November Day when my taxi pulled up to the looming building. Reluctantly I paid him and lugged my two bags out of the trunk before pulling away. Marklen Academy was the most neutral, bland, building I had ever seen. It was a cement building with wide windows with dark chocolate sills. Dark evergreen bushes stretched to the roof, neatly trimmed in tapered oval shapes. Oddly enough it reminded me of some rich country school somewhere in England. Yet its entrance was surprisingly modern, with sliding glass doors, that resembled those of a hospital. Standing next to the door was a middle-aged woman with small black glasses. She had flawless skin and surprisingly golden brown hair, draw back into a bun.
          “Leocadia?” she asked.
          “Yeah.” I said caught off guard, then corrected her. “Cadia.” I did not want to be called Leocadia for however long I would be there. She nodded vaguely.
          “We’ve been expecting you.” she glanced at a file, she was holding and spoke again, “Achluophobica, correct?” she confirmed.
          “Yes.”
          “How was your trip?”
          Oh, you mean the three-hour plane ride to Lincoln, two-hour bus drive, and thirty minutes taxi ride near dusk. “Fine.”
          “I’m glad to hear that. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Katherine Dermyer, student guidance director.”
          “Oh.”
          “Follow me into my office. You’ve got a lot to be informed about before you can begin you normal activities.” So I followed her in silence. Even though I had a hundred things to say and a million more to ask, I did not. All of a sudden it seemed least important and a nagging urgency suddenly was pulling me deeper into the building. I wanted to go to my room, I wanted to sleep and most of all, I wanted to be alone. I was just too tired. Still, I followed her through a narrow back hallway that appeared to be comprised of mostly offices. It was well lit.
          “Normally, students are not allowed here, these are faculty quarters, but everyone is taken to my office this way on their first day. My office has two doors, one accessible by the main hallway and one accessible through these faculties, here. After tonight, please use the main one. Here we are.” she said motioning with the file. I turned left with her.
          Inside was painted peach, as I feared most of the rooms would be. I left my bags at the door and took a seat in a chair in front of her desk. It was a strange room. A very odd mix of my psychologist’s office and doctors together, with even a hint of a florist. With heavy darkly polished furniture, the room was solid, and giving of tones of hidden authority. I suppose it was suppose to be comforting and at the same time have the seriousness. I still don’t understand it. With the softly colored walls, it was all very strange. There were no windows, on the walls, or doors, and I found myself wondering how her numerous plants got their daily dose of light, particularly the tall, leafy one in the corner. The only other decoration type things in the room was a small array of distinctly different pieces of artwork hung carefully on the walls. Her desk was right in front of me, the faculty door behind her, and the main one behind me. On either side of us were two great bookcases stacked and crammed with books of every imaginable size, shape and color.
          For a moment she stood poised in the front center of her desk, her hands lightly crossed. Then she spoke, with strength and dictation. I can only imagined how many times she has said and continues to say similar if not the same things.
          “Alright, first, on behalf of all of Marklen I would like to welcome you. As you well know some phobias prevent normal lifestyles and we would like to help provide you with a stepping stone to a manageable level of living. Some students are even able to completely overcome their fears by the time they leave for college. Others move on, more or less.” She said, pausing as she shuffled through what I assumed was my file once again. What a wonderful thought.
          “There are for hundred and thirty students, sixty-two class rooms, twenty six teachers, thirty five heath care physicians, including psychologists, and four very large C.E.s- Controlled environments for extreme situations. Very extreme, and extremely rare. A couple things. Here is a condensed list of things you can not do, say, or initiate. Expulsion is an obvious result of failure to comply with these rules. No alcohol, symbols of witchcraft, all personal items mush be carried in your bag or backpack when in between classes. Absolutely no fire, animals, tormenting other students. Under no circumstances have physical contact with other students, or any of their things, questioning of their phobias, unless they specifically tell you to. This is important. Do you understand Cadia?” she asked looking at me from under her glasses. I nodded. Fearing to talk.
          “Here, this if for you.” Ms. Dermyer said, handing me a white cube. It was light, opaque, and seemed to be plastic.
          “What-?”
          “Let me show you.” She said softly, but I barely heard her as I had been carefully watching her hand hover above the light switch. I froze as my lungs twisted freezing up my voice.
          “Wait-” I gasped out but it was too late, she had shut of the light. I prepared myself for the horror to follow, afraid to realize the darkness. It wasn’t until that moment I looked in my hand, and saw it. Not only my hand, but the box too, which was glowing brightly. The room was lit as though by a dozen or more candles. I looked to her for explanation, and before I could speak she had turned the room’s lights back on and my light was just a box once more.
          “It is from Tokyo, I managed to get several. I was there not less than six months ago. It, as you may have noticed is highly sensitive to light, or the lack of and will automatically be activated the moment darkness reaches it.” I closed it in the palm of my hand, still breathing deeper than usual. “Do you have any question?”
          “None that I can think to ask right now. I’m kinda tired.”
          “Alright, then I’ll show you where your dorm is.” I took my bags up once more and began trudging through the halls, shuffling as I dragged them behind me. “I think you will find it rather suitable.”
          “I’m sure.” I said, suddenly wearied by my own nodding. “I do have a question.”
          “Yes?” she said, stopping in the middle of a hall and turning to me with a deep interest and keen attention.
          “Do you speak Japanese?” she turned and began walking again. Apparently she didn’t think it was a question worth stopping for. Oh well.
          “As well as French, Spanish, Latin, Russian, and Gaelic. I traveled quiet a lot a few years ago, assisting on some major studies related to our program. I still go occasionally, though there is a lot here to keep me busy, but soon I hope to travel back to Japan, it was unique.”
          “What’s it like” I asked, now genuinely interested.
          “Busy, bright and dark at the same time, everything together but separate.” She finished. I didn’t know what to say. It was an iffy answer and I didn’t know quite how to respond, but I didn’t need to. She had stopped at a door. I had hardly noticed we were in a wide long hallway lined with doors. She took a slender key from her pocket and opened the door, and pushed it open. The room was painted sun orange, bright and tropical in appearance. Across from the door there was a window, with only a thin wooden shade. To the right of that, there was a bed layered with white comforters and ice blue pillows, a single manila envelope lay across the center one. Across from the foot of the bed, was a tall wooden wardrobe. On the wall across from her bed, closest to the door, was a lamp, small couch, with a picture of a tropical coast hanging above it, the colors from the sunset blending in with the walls. The corner where the window and the couch nearly met was cover by a tall green plant that nearly grazed the ceiling. Other than that it was empty.
          Ms. Dermyer waited as I looked around the room, trying to recall what was supposed to be in there. I was sent a package in the mail three months earlier and was asked to chose from eight different room colors, fifteen different wall things, and two out of twelve furniture pieces It all looked well enough.
          “The lighting is adjustable, from forty watts to one hundred and twenty-five.” She said pointing to a dial. I set down my bags near the wardrobe as I listened intently to her instructions. “There is a packet with detailed and in depth rules. Also, a map of the school grounds and classrooms is included. You should find your schedule in there. Do you have any further questions?” I shook my head, no. “Tomorrow is you have any questions you can come to my office.” I was began to stand to say goodbye but she was out the door before I could even speak. Maybe she had to get up early. I don’t know.
          So I stood there, in the middle of a strange room I’d never seen. Everyone I’d ever know was hundreds of miles away. I took the envelope off my bed, pulled back the comforters and blankets and crawled in. Still in my jeans and hooded shirt, I kicked the remained things off of the bed. I lay there only for a moment, just then thinking about everything. My eyes fell on the picture across from me and I imagined the crashing waves against the coast, the twilight sun rising just above the horizon as light began to sweep and I slept.

          I woke up to the same room, a soft murmur of noise outside my door. My room was oddly lit, between the bright lights and the natural light from my window. It looked sunny enough outside so I turned the lights down. As I sat on my bed, my feet hanging down the side, I realized I had no clue what time it was or when I was supposed to start with things. I slid of the bed, my legs were still asleep and I stumbled clumsily. I pulled my watch from my suitcase and squinted to reach seven ten. What time did classes start again? Oh, god, I had no clue.
          This time I stumbled quicker over to the bedside, sitting on the cold wooden floor. I tore open the manila and dumped its thick contents onto the floor. Papers and pamphlets spilled out. I brushed them aside searching for my schedule, but I couldn’t find it. It occurred to me I should have read it all the night before, but then again I should have done a lot of things. So I kept looking. I only stopped when there were three defined knocks at my door. I approached the door, and stood there for a moment cautiously. I opened the door. In front of me there was a girl, who looked a little older than I was. She had short choppy hair, and was dressed in a thick-strapped tank top, capris, and flip-flops- all black. The girl had her arms wrapped around a tall slender walking stick that went to her shoulders. Near the top broad strips of leather were wrapped around it. She leaned her weight on it heavily, the straightened and passed it to her right hand, balancing it parrelel to her side. She gripped it tight and seemed to be highly conscious of it as she spoke.
          “Hello. Dermyer told me to wake you. Classes start at quarter to eight You’ll want to be walking at seven thirty and you will probably even get lost.” I just stared at this girl in front of me. “My name is Dara. No thing you need to worry about, but I’ll kick your ass the minute you get within five feet of me. ‘K? Good. See you at lunch.” And then she walked away. I stood there for a moment then quickly went back into my room. Locking the door behind me, I left my clothes in a pile near the tiny bathroom and showered.
          After I finished, I pulled out a pair of orange pants with a few too many pockets, and a white tank and dressed. I pushed my suitcase down and began to dig though it. With far much more effort than I should have needed, I finally found my choker, an orange band with a silver sunburst that hung from its center. I slipped on my Steve Madden shoes, and dumped the remaining contents I had packed in it onto the bare floor, which was now scattered with several different piles. I packed it full of textbooks I had found on the floor of my otherwise empty closet and stuffed the schedule and some for the papers from the packet. Lastly I took my keys and a handful of money, maybe I would be able to find a Pepsi machine or something. Maybe.

          Outside the halls, as wide as they were, filled and thrashing like a strong river. Students and adults alike moved in around her in carefully calculated weaving paths. Some students darted in and out between groups, while others walked leisurely in large, bulky groups. Most of them had backpacks on, slung over their shoulder, several of the backpacks were stone gray with the letters M.A. monogrammed conspicuously on the back. They looked like the school issue.
          As I paused for a moment, waiting for a group of girls to pass, I began my way through the moving sea of people. While I slowly began to move to the main hallway, away from the dorm rooms, the students began to thin out until I was one of only twenty or so wandering the halls. I walked down them alone, slowly and lost. Soon, though I began to notice a square metallic case, the size of a first aid box, set squarely in the center of the wall every so often. Just as the last one was about to disappear out of my sight I came upon another one. Near the top of each box, there was a deep groove cutting completely across it, a shallower groove below it.
          I forced my self to shift my attention away from the oddities of my new school and onto the simple fact that I did not have the slightest idea of how to get to my first class, or any of them for that mater. As I stopped near the wall, and bent to pull the papers from my bag, a girl down the hall began to scream. It was a harsh scream, ragged and terrifying. I became instantly afraid because something was deathly terrifying the girl and I didn’t even know what it was. The girl was hysterical, tears streaming down her face, she screamed, “Look. She’s here! They’re all here! They are coming! Oh god! Oh god! Help me!” and she threw her arms down, falling to her knees and burying her hands into her face. I stood there dumbly, not knowing what to do. Within a minute a professor was at her side, his brief case open. Two more adults, one man and one woman, had arrived. They were dressed in the same stone gray color of the backpacks in uniforms that almost resembled those of a nurse.
          The woman pulled the girl back, holding the girl’s arms firmly. The professor had now removed a small parcel from his brief case. He unzipped the leather casing quickly, and opened it upon the ground. Then, his hands moving expertly, he took a prepared syringe and with a small squirt of a clear solution, he removed any air. Next to him, the girl continued to wail in a mixture of sobs and screams. As the two attendees held the girl on her back, each grasping her arm and leaning onto it, the man jabbed the needle into her arm. The girl just sobbed more.
          The man’s face eases now, but a look of duty remained. He looked to my direction, his eyes recognizing something. The girl began to calm and the attendees began to focus their energy on soothing her. She looked tired. I know I would be. A thin line of blood trickled down her arm unnoticed. The man said something to the attendee. I think they nodded. I still just stood there dumbfounded. The man stood and walked over too me. Taking my arm in his hand he began pulling me away from the girl, a sense of urgency about it.
          “Where are you supposed to be?” he asked suddenly.
          “What?” I said, looking to him dumbly.
          “What class are you supposed to be in,” he looked at his watch on his other hand, “in about three minutes.”
          “I don’t know.” I looked to my forgotten schedule in my other hand. “En-English. I think.”
“           Dermyer.” He muttered underneath his breath.
          “Who are you?” I tired to stop, I turned back. He did not and continued to pull me through the hall by my increasingly red arm. We were now in a large hall. The front door I had come in was at the far end of the room. It’s ceiling was glass. Around the upper perimeter of the room were the upstairs halls, only chrome finished railings lining it’s outside to keep people from tripping off. In the center of the room there was a huge plant whose leaves blossomed out into the room. I did not have a chance to look at it because I was being pulled into a room. He left me there, storming into the door across from me.
          “Katherine!” his voice boomed, then he lowered it. “When was there a new transfer?”
          “Just last night. Richard, what-” a chair was pushed back. She must have stood from her desk. It was only then that I knew I was in Ms. Dermyer’s reception area. This was the student accessible door she had spoken about.
          “I am late for my first period English honors class.” Great. “ You know why?” he continued, growing louder. “ There was a 11T on the I wing outside the dormitories. Carrie Summerhaize was hysterical and only by chance I was there. God knows where she is now.”
          “ Leocadia Kanta was briefed on school conduct as was escorted to her room. I did not know she wouldn’t read the material.”
          “Oh come on Katherine, it happens two out of five times, but you wouldn’t care because you aren’t the one preparing a hypodermic of Kentamine on the floor outside some third period Math, are you? No, you are behind your little desk tying streamers to the welcome wagon. Well it’s you problem and you can fix it. Meanwhile I’m,” he paused, “twenty minutes, twenty minutes late for my English honors class.”
          I sat in the chair and watched as he stormed out of the office. The door nearly slammed shut but a single hand stopped it. Ms. Dermyer came out. She was dressed in a collared white dress that stopped at her knee and buttoned all the way up. Her hair was again pulled back into the neat bun. She looked like a nurse, but not quite. An elementary school teacher maybe, I couldn’t place it.
          “Cadia, you did not read your material.”
          “No.” she did not speak, as she dropped her shoulders and waved for me to follow her. I followed her back to my room.
          “I want you to stay in your dormitory until you have read through every word of that packet. You should be ready for second period, however, your rules are arranged as though you are leaving you first period. Therefor I want you to leave your dorm early and wait outside of your first period class and when the bell rings follow the instructions."
          I will admit, I was ashamed. Oh God. I suddenly got the sickening feeling in my stomach that some girl was being pumped full of Kenta-whatever because I went to sleep. Oh God.
          "Cadia, don't worry, this was your first day, but these things are important installations. If you need anything else I suspect you know where my office is." Oh God. I nodded politely and smiled.
          So there I sat, in the middle of my hardwood floor a wide array of papers scattered around me. You would not believe the papers if I spent four hours trying to describe it. I began to wonder how they expected me to remember all of these rules.

          The Standard Obligations and Rules for Students of Marklen Academy.

          1. Do not carry anything, outside of your backpack while in the school
halls. Consult you individual guides for what materials cannot be
removed while in each of you classes.

          2. Do no inquire about a student's medical, phobetic, or family
history. You will be told if the student desires to do so.

          3. Do not touch another student or their things with out direct
spoken permission.

          4. Follow you individual guides word for word, possible variation
from the guide can result in serious disciplinary action.


          And those where just the start, they went onto explain, in detail, various wings of the building, procedure, dorm rules, and curfew. My favorite part was the pamphlet explaining-in depth- just under four hundred and twenty phobia's and precautions so as not to irritate the person's fear. I suppose they considered it light reading because at the top they stated; "..Here a list of Phobias native to this academy can be found, for educational reading..." I could hardly wait.
          One thing I took particular care in reading was my 'individual guide', which was basically a class schedule that began the minute I stepped outside of my room. The reason and rhyme for such madness was to coordinate us in such a way that students which would inevitably clash resulting in serious side effects, so that we would avoid each other. Yes, it sounds simple enough. For example, after my first period English class I was to take the North corridor to the third stairwell to my second period class. Simple, right?
          The rest was fluff, if I had to differentiate between one area of information from the rest...it was filler about the school, Marklen Academy has done this, Marklen has new this, blah, blah, blah. I know, and well, I just don't care.


More to come soon,
please rate and review, thanks.