I woke up in my cramped cell, my heart pounding in my chest as I remembered what today was. The day of the Chechimov test. I had been preparing for this day my entire life, but no matter how much I trained or studied, I still felt woefully unprepared.
In the world I lived in, there was only one way to escape captivity and earn your freedom: pass the Chechimov test. All children were taken from their parents at birth and raised in government-run facilities, where they were given a rigorous education meant to prepare them for the test. Those who passed were granted their freedom and allowed to rejoin society as productive citizens. Those who failed were thrown into a pit, where they were left to spend the rest of their lives in darkness and misery.
I had always thought of those who failed as weak, lazy, or unintelligent. But now, as I sat in my cell, my mind racing with thoughts of what awaited me if I failed, I realized that it could happen to anyone.
I stumbled out of bed and began my morning routine, my hands shaking as I tried to control my nerves. Breakfast was a bland, tasteless gruel that I forced down my throat, too anxious to taste anything. I dressed in my uniform, a drab grey jumpsuit that marked me as a student, and made my way to the testing center.
The building was massive, its sleek exterior belying the horrors that awaited inside. As I made my way through the halls, I could hear the sound of other students whispering and muttering to themselves, their voices filled with fear and uncertainty.
Finally, I reached the testing room. It was a massive space, filled with rows of desks and computer terminals. There were no windows, and the only light came from the harsh fluorescent bulbs overhead.
I took my seat and began the test. It was grueling, each question more difficult than the last. As I worked, I could feel my mind start to wander, my thoughts slipping away from the task at hand.
And then, it happened. I made a mistake. A small one, but enough to throw off my entire score. My heart sank as I realized what I had done. I had failed.
The test proctor came over to me, a stern look on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but your score was not high enough to pass. You will be taken to the pit.”
I felt a cold wave of fear wash over me. The pit. The place where all failed students were thrown, left to rot for the rest of their lives. I had always thought of it as a distant, abstract concept, something that happened to other people. But now, it was my reality.
I was taken to a small, windowless room, where I was stripped of my uniform and given a plain grey jumpsuit, the same as those worn by the pit’s other residents. My hands were bound with rough, scratchy rope, and I was led to a small metal door at the end of the hallway.
The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into darkness. I could smell the stench of rot and decay wafting up from below, and my stomach churned with nausea.
I descended the stairs, my legs shaking with every step. As I reached the bottom, I saw the pit for the first time.
It was a massive, cavernous space, the walls slick with moisture and grime. There were no lights, no windows, no way to tell day from night. The only sounds were the distant echoes of other prisoners, their voices barely audible over the sound of my own breathing.
I was thrown into the pit, my hands still bound behind my back. I landed hard on the cold, damp ground, my body aching from the impact. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. I was too weak, too tired, too defeated.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, I began to lose all sense of time. There was no way to tell how long I had been in the pit, no way to keep track of the passing days. I was alone, forgotten, left to rot in the darkness.
My body began to waste away, my muscles atrophying from lack of use. My mind began to blur, my thoughts jumbled and disjointed. I could barely remember what had led me to this place, what had caused me to fail the test.
And then, one day, I heard a sound. A faint scratching, coming from somewhere above me. I looked up, my heart pounding with hope. Could it be? Was someone coming to rescue me?
But as the sound grew louder, I realized that it was something else entirely. Something far more sinister.
Rats.
Hundreds of them, swarming down the walls and across the ground towards me. They were huge, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their teeth razor-sharp.
I screamed, thrashing and flailing as they closed in around me. But it was no use. They were too many, too strong, too hungry.
As they began to tear into my flesh, I realized that this was my fate. To die alone, forgotten, and unloved in the pit. To be devoured by rats, my body used as sustenance for the creatures that had become my only company.
As the darkness closed in around me, I could hear their teeth grinding against my bones, their claws scraping against the ground. And then, finally, everything went black.
I woke up in the worst pain of my life. When the guard brought me my daily servings of beans, he screamed and fumbled his phone. I am writing this through his account. Hopefully this nightmare will end.