Experiment 1

Let’s begin with a perfect picture of a perfect family. A father stands at one end of the table with a platter of turkey, heat still rising off its perfectly roasted skin. On the other end is a daughter, her arms folded over in front of her on the table. To her right, or his left, are the next two youngest daughters, both with warm, expectant smiles. Across from them are the final two, even younger daughters, forks uplifted, ready to peck at the delectable feast cooked by their loving father.

The family table, illuminated by an overhanging stained-glass light fixture, radiated a nostalgic glow set against the backdrop of a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. The oldest daughter’s hands refused to touch the plates as they were passed among her siblings. In fact, everyone was all smiles—except for her.

The father wore a large, dimpled smile that would have been infectious to anyone other than the standoffish oldest daughter, but it only ended up intensifying the contrast between the two ends of the table.

“You seem a bit down today. Wanna talk, sweetie?” The father clasped his hands in front of his face.

The oldest daughter’s eyes rolled around the room, watching her siblings piling mashed potatoes, coleslaw, turkey, macaroni and cheese, and soft buttered rolls onto their plates.

“Is it Thanksgiving?” The oldest daughter finally asked.

The father let out a hearty chuckle, yet his eyes remained locked on her. Her younger sisters had yet to notice the tension—they seemed stuck in their own world, oblivious to the brewing conflict.

“What makes you say that?” he responded, his grin still intact.

The oldest daughter sat in silence, returning the father’s sharp stare.

“The food. It’s what you have on Thanksgiving.”

“Is it, now? I guess so.” He laughed. “Is it good, girls? Do you all like the food Daddy cooked?” He passed the question around the table. They all either gave an affirmative grunt or murmured “Yes” while scarfing down the feast.

“You haven’t had any yet. Oh! You don’t even have a plate, do you? I can grab you one if you’d like.”

“I know where the plates are,” the daughter said through gritted teeth.

“It’s really good, big sister,” said the smallest, youngest sibling.

Her eyes flitted to the little one, and a thin smile almost threatened to break out of her pout. “I’m sure it is,” she said quietly.

She refocused on her father. “It’s always perfect.”

“Isn’t it?” he threw back at her.

“Is it Thanksgiving?” she asked again.

“It could be. Does there have to be a special occasion to eat turkey and mashed potatoes?” He continued smiling, hunched forward in his chair, elbows on the table.

She leaned back in her chair. “No.”

“Right, no. I just felt like spending my entire day making this spread. All for you all.” There was a hint of passive-aggressiveness in his statement.

“Thanks, Dad!” the second oldest chimed. The rest of the family repeated their thanks like good, obedient daughters.

“You’re all so very welcome.” He tussled the third oldest’s hair, seated on his left. “I do this for you all because I love you, but your appreciation lifts my spirits and warms my heart.”

“It is Thanksgiving, after all,” said the second youngest.

“Is it?” asked the oldest.

“What’s Thanksgiving?” asked the youngest. The three older daughters’ hands stopped moving, and the sound of silverware crashing to the table echoed around the room.

The father’s smile tilted slightly. He scratched his salt-and-pepper hair. “It’s a holiday where we sit around the table eating food like what we’re having now, and giving thanks to our ancestors who landed in this country, who made it possible for us to be here right now.”

“Cool!” She smiled and continued eating. The rest of his daughters went back to their food.

“It is really good, Dad.”

“Why, thank you, little lady.”

“Can we listen to the radio after this?” asked the second oldest.

“No, I’m afraid not tonight.”

The second oldest seemed disappointed but accepted this response.

Let’s start with a picture of a family—five young daughters and a father—seated at a table, and zoom out. Let’s observe the glazed windows, parakeet green drawers and cabinets, and the outline of a door just outside the frame. Let’s breathe in the smell of bleach and cranberry sauce. It’s homey, yet sterile, yes? Now, we zoom in on the oldest daughter, who disparages such a serene scene.

“Where is here?” asks the littlest one.

The picture freezes. Everyone freezes. The oldest daughter looks over at her father, whose smile finally breaks.

“Where is here? What do you mean, where is here? Here is here.”

“No, I mean, where is here? Like, there’s this kitchen and the living room, and the bedrooms, but what’s outside of that?” The littlest one’s eyebrows furrow in innocent confusion. Children must always ask, “Why?” The curiosity of a child who knows nothing of the world is overpowering.

“Dad,” the oldest warned.

“There’s nothing out there.”

“How can there be nothing? What do you mean?”

“How about we table this discussion until later, when you’re older, okay?”

“Isn’t the food delicious? Mmm,” entreated the second youngest.

“But I want to know! What’s out there? Is it dangerous or something?”

The oldest daughter wordlessly observed the escalating family dialogue.

“Yes, it’s—”

“Why isn’t there a door to the outside?”

“That’s because—”

“Why can’t you tell me?” The youngest sister was gradually getting louder and louder. The father and other daughters kept trying to interject to appease her sudden burst of curiosity, but it’s impossible to reason with or fight a curious, egocentric child.

“THAT’S ENOUGH! SHUT IT DOWN!” shouted the oldest child.

Gas suddenly started rising up from the floor. By this point, the youngest child was in tears, but slowly her eyes began to droop, and her head lolled forward. The third oldest reached a hand over to brush the child’s plate away. The gas dissipated. Both the oldest and the father stood up.

“I told you this wasn’t going to work,” she commented.

The second oldest kicked the oldest in the shin. “You sabotaged things from the beginning!”

“I told you this was a dumb idea before we even started.”

A disembodied voice cut through the chatter. “Experiment 1, scenario 1 has failed. Subjects 1 and 2 will now return to barracks.”

A door opened, and cold light spilled into the room.

“I thought I played my part perfectly! Per. Fect. Ly. I think I was born to be an actor.” The father beamed. His face suddenly morphed to look grey and wrinkled. “This face was born for the stage!”

The oldest daughter grimaced.

All the other “daughters” aside from her morphed into something similar to the father.

“As if,” remarked the third.

“I left R&D for this!?” cried the second youngest.

“See you all tomorrow?” he called out as they all pushed past him.

He turned toward the oldest. “Please don’t screw this up again. It’s not about me… okay, it’s a little bit about me, but it’s also about you. You’re aware of what could happen if things don’t progress, don’t you, Charlotte?”

Charlotte, the oldest, stared at her feet.

“You just need to keep it in mind and put in some effort. I know, you can make some suggestions for tweaks. I personally love getting notes—anything you think would be helpful.”

Her “father” exited the room.

“All subjects must now return to their barracks.”

Charlotte looked to the food and then to her youngest and only real sister. She put a bunch of the food on a plate and then scooped up the 5-year-old.

“We will make this work, I promise, Abby. We’ll go back to our real home soon.”

With that quiet declaration, they exited the room. The door automatically shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness.