The Experiment By Sushma Raju

The Experiment

  • Creativity and Originality
  • Writing Style and Language
  • Plot and Structure
  • Character Development
  • Readers Appreciation
3.7/5Overall Score


Struggling with finances, a freelancer seizes a high-paid, cryptic task: to write incessantly in isolation. As the pages multiply, reality blurs, and obsession takes root, revealing the fine line between ambition and entrapment.

Have you ever heard about the thing that more complex the job, the more you will get paid? Well, as a freelancer, this rings true almost all times. I have done a number of odd jobs from dog walking to breaking up with random strangers for money. Hey, we all need money. Don’t judge me. It has been a stretch of dry spell since the pandemic and lockdown happened. I have been living, rather frugally, on my savings. Now that’s dwindling, I have been on the edge and scrolling through the odd jobs portal for anything, something to come up.

My dry spell has finally broken with a job that came up on the portal,

“Wanted a female with high integrity and clean background for a highly complex job. Should sign a confidentiality agreement at a disclosed place.

Rate per hour: 500 INR

Whole day event, should be able to stay longer than needed.

For further enquiries, DM”

500 INR for every hour ? Sign me up.

After some rounds of texts, I receive the location. I don’t recognize the address though. This would be a profitable job if done right. They have been vague about the job details.

One hour later, I arrive at the location. It’s a seemingly empty building with a guy standing outside who clearly doesn’t belong here.

“Are you sush?” He asks me in a deep voice, his eyes darting around the dark neighborhood.

“Yes”, I answer faintly and follow him through a set of double thick glass automatic doors. The stark white room is a contrast to the dank neighborhood. Another set of doors on my way through, I enter into a sterlized white room with a workspace in the middle of room.

The man stretches out his hand for my phone and gives me a confidentiality agreement basically detailing that this is a social experiment and I am not supposed to say about the experiment to anyone. After signing the ridiculously high paying job, he gestures me towards the workspace with a nod of his head, I walk quietly to the table and sit down facing him and the room with no clock, no wall adornments. A hospital room would be far more cheerful compare to this.

On the table lies a a bunch of blank paper and a pen beside it. The man continues, ” on these sheets write any story, your life story, Ur dreams and wishes, anything. I will leave you to write whatever you need. For every hour u complete, we will deposit 500 in your account. There is no time limit on how much you want to write. Just press the button on the underside of the table when you are done. Any question?”

A million questions swirl through my head, but I gape like a dying fish put of water and nod mutely at him. A slow smile graces his face as he turns to leave. I pick up the pen and write about my story of my parents, my life, the incident that changed my life, everything like I was possessed to write without any interruptions. With no clock in the room, it’s difficult to keep track of the time.

Some time has gone by, as I finish the entire block of loose sheets. Just as I reach for the button, a small slit in the room opens and out comes another block of papers for me.

I stride across the room and take the papers clutching it close to my chest as it is the only connection to the outside world. How many hours have passed by ? I have no idea. Hope I have enough money in my bank account now. I look down on my dress and notice it’s slightly tattered. The notion is barely registered in my mind. I have to write. Nothing else matters.

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