The Kafkha Experiment (Part 1)

“Are you absolutely sure that these are all the remaining documents?” you questioned firmly, your gaze locked onto your assistant. Her posture wavered slightly under the pressure your were putting her through. Her grip on the manilla folders that she held out in front of her tightened, almost as if she was reluctant to let them leave her possession. One couldn’t blame her, however, for feel so insecure. After all, the very documents clutched in her hands contained years’ worth of controversial psychological studies, very much to be considered unethical today.

It took a moment, but she nodded slowly, her expression remaining stoic in attempt to hide the fragments of concern muddled in her eyes. She then immediately began to fidget with a lock of brown hair dangling to the side of her face - a habit you had observed that was performed whenever she was extremely worried or unsure. Your intense eyes softened and a small smile played on your lips in attempt to reassure her. “Now, now” you laughed, gently reaching out for the folders. “What are you so worried about Veronica? I’ll be the only one reading them, after all.”

Your assistant looked up, trying to imitate the pleasant smile you wore. “Y-yes,” she stammered, still continuing to roll stands of hair between her thumb and pointer finger. “It’s just that…”

“Just what? These aren’t poison, you know.”

“It’s not that,” Veronica sighed. She dropped her hands from her hair, and instead, wrapped them around her chest. She shivered as she spoke “You never know what kind of twisted work is in there. It deadens me to think what those victims might’ve suffered.”

“Psychology is a disturbing field,” you muttered, plopping down into your rolling chair behind your desk. “After all, the human mind itself is perturbed.”

Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed, and her features sharpened She huffed out, discontent with the lack of approval, and proceeded to march out of your office. Before she left, however, she shot an apprehensive look behind her shoulder, and whispered “Just call if you need any help.”

Only when she closed the door did you release your contained laughter. It was almost impressive on how much your assistant fretted over you. At times like a motherly figure, Veronica was constantly checking up on you, supervising your every meal, and generally spent most of her time beside you. She would interrogate you on hours for personal information, which turned into sessions of amusement for you, considering you had been working with each other for over 10 years. Thought you understood it was genuine concern for your well-being, it was hard to overlook the fact that she was unnecessarily overbearing to the point of exhaustion.

As your laughter slowly ceased to a small grin plastered on your face, your eyes were drawn to the simplicity of the folders. No name, no date, no wording decorated the beige exterior of the folders. It seemed so ironic that such immense, yet consequential informations was shielded from plain sight so ordinarily.

Disregarding all those previous thoughts, it was about time you read what was considered some of the most controversial studies undertaken by scientists in decades. Yet, there was a certain strand of consciousness buried your mind urging you to drop your enthusiasm for the cryptic truth. ‘It’s probably abhorrent to the core,’ it hissed. ‘You wouldn’t want to fuel nightmares, would you?’

Insecurity swept over you. You hadn’t even noticed your hands palpitating until your gaze fell down to your lap, where the folders were rested in your trembling grip. Dammit, you couldn’t back away, now of all times! After all the trouble it took to obtain such undisclosed information, any self-doubt had to be eradicated. Still, your predisposition towards these papers were fostering trepidation and uncertainty. Right then, your mind was breeding two very erratic and conflicting notions- one, exhilarated to obtain answers for your questions, and the other, cajoling you to drop the investigation.

You swung the folder open before you were coaxed otherwise.

With that, you exhaled, your previous agitation dissolving in the process. Now, there was no looking back. Unhurriedly, you peeked down, your eyes pinpointing the title.

The Kafka Experiment

Findings Published in 1953

The rest of the page was blank, with the exception of a handwritten message in blue ink.

*Findings were excavated in abandoned research facility; work was never actually published

The print was fresh and sloppy, indicating that someone else had also reviewed this work recently, before it fell into your hands. You made a mental note to check with Veronica who exactly in your psychology unit purchased these research papers. Then again, said person would rather remain anonymous, as buying off the black market wasn’t exactly a bragging feat.

With a bit more courage residing in you, you daringly flipped over the next page, a thirst for the unknown brewing.

On the next page, an extensive description of a girl was laid before you. Your finger delicately skimmed the surface of the picture attached, trailing the outline of the features with sorrowful remembrance. “Katyusha,” you whispered, breathlessly, flashed to your first meeting with the girl.

“Aren’t you cold?” a voice questioned, heavily accented. You looked up from your swinging legs, which gradually halted. Facing you was a girl your age, with light blond, short hair and blue eyes. She wore a pleasant smile, which you assumed was difficult to muster in such dreary, uncertain conditions. You shook your head, to answer her question. “Nope, I’m quite fine,” you mumbled, lacking enthusiasm. Despite your answer, and your clear distaste for conversation, she plopped down onto the seat adjacent to you.

“Then why are you shivering?” she asked, her smile unfaltering. You grimly met her eyes again. You were about to snap and tell her to leave you in your solitary, but something about those entrancing pristine, blue eyes, holding hope and affection, melted your initial hostility. “I’m nervous, that’s all,” you admitted, before resuming to aimlessly swing your legs. The girl joined in, while unraveling her beige shawl.

“You can use this as a blanket, if you’d like,” she offered, holding out the cloth towards you. “I don’t feel cold.” You slowly shoved her hand away. “I’m not cold,” you repeated, wondering why she was being so persistent. In addition, you had observed she put too much emphasis on her r’s, and it was become a slight annoyance. “Anyways, it’s still chilly, why don’t you use it?”

The girl giggled, before explaining. “My brothers and sisters are from Russia. We’re used to much worse.” Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Russia?” you repeated, agape. The girl nodded, enthusiastic to share more. “Yes, all the way up north. When Mama and Papa disappeared, my brother, Ivan, and sister, Natalia, were brought down south to Ukraine.”

“That’s so cool!” you cried out, at the edge of your seat. Your face fell, however, when you replayed her words in your head. “I’m...sorry about your parents.”

What surprised you was the indifference the girl expressed towards that fact. “It’s fine,” she coaxed, easing your remorse. “I didn’t know them for very long, and I’ve gotten used to talking about this.” She leaned back, nostalgia washing over her mature eyes. “Besides, I think everyone here is an orphan, no?”

It felt odd for another child to be referring to you as an orphan, as it was a term reserved for ‘experienced adults’ as they put it, but you nodded in agreement. “I don’t remember my parents, but it doesn’t bother me either,” you added, observing the other children in the room. Something stirred in the back of your mind, causing you to blurt out a phrase you’d never forget.

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“Y-your name,” you stammered, suddenly mortified by your ignorance. “I-I don’t know it.”

The girl, however, proceeded to smile even wider. “Katyusha,” she stated plainly. You, however, were awestruck. The way that name rolled off of her tongue seemed so breathtaking. Yes, your state of complete reverence was partially because you were delighted by such miniscule feats, but the articulation was so smooth and yet delicate.

“Katyusha,” you repeated, attempting to imitate the very accent she used. Unfortunately, it came out choppy and inexperienced, the words freshly enunciated off your tongue. You were determined to get it right though, so you continued to practice, with Katyusha right in front of you.

Between muted mumbles of the name, Katyusha let out a satisfied sigh. “That’s very nice of you,” she said, getting up. She then began to walk over to some other children who were alone, much like you prior to 7 minutes ago. “For what?” you called out after her, afraid that you’d somehow offended her. Oh god, you had just made a friend, and now, you were at risk of losing her. When Katyusha spun around with an appreciative smile, such worries were instantly dispelled.

“For caring about my name.”