[ WP ] In response to increased poor behavior among young people , mind control devices are used to keep children obedient , prim , and proper until they turn 18 . You have just had your device removed .

The chair was cold and firm, making it painful to sit. I suppose it's what my parents wanted. 
 
 Mother asked me to sit in the chair and be quiet while she and father prepare the equipment. My eyes skid back and forth between them, picking up their subtle gestures as they whispered too low for me to hear. Their eyebrows would furrow as their faces contorted into grimaces. I wished I could figure out why they were looking at each other like that, but I was told to never speak unless spoken to. 
 
 I learned years ago that attempting otherwise would send an electrical impulse to my skull. It hurt only a little; it felt weird and uncomfortable, if anything. Our Prophet, Walter Manson, told us that it cleansed our souls of the demons who want to tempt us against the world. Acting on those temptations would be a serious grievance to our parents, to Him and to God. It made sense; children are much more susceptible to darker forces. 
 
 My mother's voice was solemn. `` Free will is not something to be taken lightly,'' she said as she glared at my temples. On each side of my forehead was a small grey bulb. These were the devices that protected me all those years. I looked at my mother and then the table that lay next to her. The table was filled with an assortment of tools. My hands began to tremble. 
 
 `` Are you sure I'm ready?'' I gulped, my mind reeling with all the possibilities of what could happen to me. Memories of my older sister's body as she lay still and blue in the grass came to me. The car had tipped over and burst into flames. My parents said it would n't have happened if she had n't been given alcohol, if she had truly promised to honor her blessing. 
 
 `` We must comply with the Prophet's Law, son,'' father spoke up, rubbing one of the tools with a towel. He seemed to look into his reflection as he made circular motions with the towel. `` God blessed Adam with free will and instructs all His children to come in the earnest desire for Salvation.'' 
 
 I glanced around to check if there were oxygen masks or needles. I bit my lip, as much as I was permitted to do so by any means. 
 
 `` It's a simple procedure,'' my mother spoke again, `` all we have to do is unscrew the sides of the bulbs, lift up the cover, then unfasten them from your head. It will only take a couple of minutes.'' 
 
 I nodded, whether in mere compliance or from the sense of reassurance I was n't quite certain. `` If it's what you want me to do,'' I said in almost a whisper. Parents would get angry if I spoke for too long without their guidance or input. 
 
 Father approached mother, a long screw in hand. `` I can begin loosening the bolts now. You hold the child still to avoid jerking.'' 
 
 Mother came closer to me without hesitation, her arms pressing down on my shoulders. `` You need to be very still.'' In an instant, my shoulders tensed up and my front teeth were pressed against my bottom lip. My eyes locked on to the picture of the Prophet in focus. Every picture He ever took made Him look magnificent, a golden eminence among us. 
 
 Father walked over to my left first. One hand gripped the top of my head while the other aimed for a bolt. I could feel the pressure as he twisted each bolt off one by one. Soon, four bolts rolled around on the table covered with tools, and I felt father lift off the cover. My teeth moved from my lip to my tongue as I felt the suction of the bulb release hold of my skin. In little time, he made his way to my right and unfastened the remaining four bolts. I breathed steady and deep, closing my eyes. 
 
 `` I need you to do one more thing for us,'' mother whispered in my ear, `` before you are given your blessing.'' 
 
 I felt blood rush through my body, my stomach twisting and turning. My eyes burst open as my mind froze. I saw father place the other four bolts on the table. Please lift it now, father, I cried inside my head. To my worst fear, he stood still and stared at me and mother. He was going to let her finish. No. 
 
 `` One more thing,'' my mother repeated, her face directly in my ear. `` Just one.'' 
 
 My skin turned clammy as I trembled. I let out a deep sigh, holding back tears. `` What do you want me to do, mother?'' 
 
 That was when my head tugged back as she balled my hair into her fist. Even in my age now, I can close my eyes and remember her voice, loud and clear. 
 
 `` John. Never tell a soul about the bodies.'' 
 
 Even as my heart gives out its last beat, I can not cry.
