Resolutions

Resolutions

Gemi sat on a stool in the empty room staring at the windowless walls and closed door. Her stomach churned and she could smell her own sweat dampening her shirt. She’d heard these interviews were more like interrogations—each question peeled off another layer of skin until there was nothing left but an empty husk. Her throat tightened and she clenched her fists, fingernails biting into her palms.

“Let us begin,” a robotic voice emanated from the ceiling, walls and floor. She scanned the room, looking for evidence of speakers, cameras, saw nothing but the stark whiteness surrounding her, closing in, suffocating. Her breath quickened.

“State your full name.” The voice reverberated off the walls, thrummed in her chest, pierced her ears.

“Gemini 2121,” she answered, mouth dry as cotton.

“You have been summoned to account for your resolutions based on your birth chart: ruled by Mercury, nourished by air, moon rising in Leo, decreed by star twins Castor and Pollux. You will be asked four questions and your responses will be duly noted. Is your understanding of the proceedings complete?”

“Yes,” she answered, frantically trying to remember the resolutions she made a year ago based on her horoscope.

“Do you swear to speak truthfully under penalty of death or dismemberment, exile or estrangement?”

Gemi could feel waves of panic building, the burn of adrenaline weakening her arms and legs, threatening to topple her from the stool. “I, uh—“

“Answer the question,” the voice commanded.

She took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to calm. “I do,” she said.

“Resolution Number One: ‘Don’t use other people’s lives as topics of discussion.’ How do you plead—guilty or not guilty?”

Gemi squirmed. “I don’t understand—”

“Guilty or not guilty?”

“I didn’t—”

“Guilty or not guilty?”

Gemi tried to see the logic in her choices. Was she guilty of not gossiping about others or not guilty of gossiping? Had she passed rumors about others or spoken the truth? A wrong answer could be seen as a lie and the punishment unmerciful.

“Your time is up. Guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty,” she said, hoping she was telling the truth.

“Duly noted. Resolution Number Two: ‘Don’t lose yourself in work.’ Guilty or not guilty?”

Gemi tried to remember her days at work. She couldn’t recall what she did yesterday let alone a year ago. Did she manage to complete all her tasks efficiently without stress, complaining or working overtime? Sweat tightened her scalp and her heart thumped erratically. “Uh, not guilty,” she mumbled, feeling as though her mind was teetering on an abyss.

“Speak up!”

“Not guilty,” she repeated, determined to sound confident.

“Duly noted. Resolution Number Three: ‘Do not make decisions before you know all the facts.’ Guilty or not guilty?”

What decisions? What facts? she wondered, tiring of these mind games, tired of trying to second guess her interrogator.

“Not guilty,” she stated, not having a clue if her response was a truth or a lie.

“Acknowledged. Final Resolution Number Four: ‘Don’t struggle on your own.’ Guilty or not guilty?”

Is this a trick question? Am I guilty for not asking for help or not guilty because I did? She sat motionless, pondering the absurdity of the situation. She thought about the tests she had taken in school. Too many marked true or false started to look suspicious. So did even numbers of identical responses. This felt the same way, but she couldn’t erase her answers.

“Guilty,” she said with a shrug, relieved the questioning was over.

“All responses have been taken into account. Let the record show that Gemini 2121 stated not guilty on three counts and guilty on one. Let it also be further shown that the Council finds her truthful only once. Therefore her sentence will be dismemberment, to be determined by a panel of those who know her best.”

A screen descended from the ceiling projecting her boyfriend, a coworker, and her father, faces grim, eyes averted.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong!” Gemi sobbed. “Ari, Cap, Lib! Help Me! I told the truth. I did my best. Please—”

“Silence!” the voice ordered. “Aries, what say you to the sentence of dismemberment?”

Ari glared at his girlfriend, disgusted by the nasty rumor she spread about his cousin, Pi. “Tongue,” he said with a smirk.

“No!” Gemi backed up against the wall, covered her mouth, couldn’t breathe. “Ari, please!”

“Tongue it shall be,” the voice stated. Gemi slumped to the floor, covered her face in her hands, whimpered.

“Capricorn, what say you about the sentence of dismemberment?”

Cap sneered at Gemi, Little Miss Brown Nose, always sucking up to the boss, staying late to finish work, volunteering for shit jobs, getting promoted to shift manager.

“Thumbs,” she said.

Gemi looked up, horrified, held up her hands, fingers splayed. “My god, Cap, no! You can’t—”

“Silence!” the voice commanded. “Thumbs it shall be.” Gemi lowered her hands to her lap, stared at her thumbs, the ragged nails, peeling polish, the mole on the left knuckle. She tried swallowing. Her tongue was a wad of paper.

“Libra, what say you about the sentence of dismemberment?”

Lib looked sadly at his daughter, shaking his head and remembering all the times she refused to listen, all the times he warned her, all the times she screwed up.

“What say you, Libra?” the voice demanded.

“Ear,” he said, “left ear.”

“Daddy! No!” Gemi howled like a wounded animal, grasping her left ear. “Please, I’ll do anything—”

“Enough!” the voice ordered. “Let the record show the sentence has been decreed and punishment will be administered at dawn tomorrow. The panel is excused.”

Gemi watched them stand up and turn to leave, Ari and Cap with an air of smugness followed by Lib who shuffled slowly away from her. At the door he glanced back at her cowering against the wall, tears streaking her cheeks.

“You should have listened.” The screen darkened. She sat alone, wrung out, empty.

“Now,” the voice said, “stand up. It is time to make resolutions for the new year. Let us begin.”