Restart

Unnatual Birth

   

       I wake up, dazed and still half asleep. I blink lazily, my head an empty slate. I try to think back to something, anything, but there is nothing to think back to. For some reason, though, this doesn't concern me. I feel nothing.

        What brings me to reality is my horribly itchy, dry throat. I'm exceedingly thirsty. I turn my head, analyzing the numbness of my body. I feel okay; I feel fine.

       I gaze around the room with little interest in a manner that almost feels like Déjà vu, and my eyes catch the multitude of screens implanted into the wall across from me as the glowing of the power buttons attracts my un-attentive orbs. The wall monitors blink in the darkness, and my eyes fixate on the only light in the dim room. They flash slowly and surely, never speeding up nor slowing down. It's sort of a calming light, and it melts the barrier around my heart, just enough for a flash of a girl to appear in my mind. A tremor of unease sprouts through my heart, and the walls close back up, lock and board itself up, and I soon forget the face of the child just as quickly as I had seen it.

       Hurrying, almost panicky footsteps from outside of the room break into my reverie, getting louder and louder as they grow closer. A small beeping sound echoes throughout the otherwise silent room before the door creaks open and shines a wave of light into my pitch-black hideout. I almost hiss from the brightness, my eyes having to newly adjust to the beaming strain of yellow. The door sounds heavy and metallic, like the sound a heavy, automatic metal door would make. My eyes widen as I watch the boy from before sauntering across the room and head straight for the window.

       He puts his hands out and then flings them to the sides like throwing open double doors that will lead him to his freedom. Peculiar, virtual curtains that had been keeping the dark room open, bathing the room in its bright, warm glow. I cringe against the more brilliant light, my eyes already accustomed to the inky darkness. As my unforgiving pupils newly adjust once again, I catch a glimpse of the boy as he leans against the window and stares out. I hear him sigh a hefty sigh like he has been holding it in for years—the world peaks curiously at me, a strange girl in a strange world.

       "I'm back...." He murmurs to himself. "Just like yesterday and the day before.... Are you never going to wake up again?" he questions, his voice carrying through the air. "How long have you been asleep? A month? A year? We really miss you. Aren't you ready to wake up?" he stirs slightly. I can only assume that he's talking to me but, who is he? To go even further, who am I?

He sighs again.

       I feel terrible for not remembering him when he obviously cares for me so strongly. And... he sounds so sad. I can picture the tears rolling down his puffy cheeks as he calls out to me in anguish. He's waiting for me. It rouses this painful feeling in me to the point of crying.

       I can't bring myself to speak. What good can I do with no memory? I glance up at the bedside table near me, noticing a glass of water placed delicately close to the edge. I don't know if it's for me, but I'm incredibly dehydrated, so I quietly reach for it. The moment I shoot my hand out to go for the glass, I feel the lightness of my arm and the length stretching farther than I remember and overshoot my reach.

       My fingers hit the glass, creating a tiny clink of a sound, rather than going over it as I had planned. The glass tips casually, and my mouth gapes open. The cup falls, onto the table, spilling water in every direction. The liquid sloshes onto the floor, the splash loud enough in the meager room. The vessel then rolls off the table and collides with the ground. The shrill ringing noise fills my ears as the glass shatters into a million pieces and scatters off like a mouse on the run.