Naught and the Circle

Chapter 11 - Waking up

It took Strawberries several minutes to realise that the awful sound she heard was a moan for help. Her eyelids were glued shut with sleep, her body ached from head to toe. What torture device had trapped her?

She turned and let out a synchronised wail. Her face landed on the soft pillow. She pry-opened her eyes.

The bright shine of the linen hurt to look at. The bed was comfortable and wide, but her arms were pierced with tubes. A strange otherworldly machine beeped and flickered with a green dot.

Her stomach screamed in pain. The dot bounced faster. Where was she? She tried to remember. The creatures who had invaded them. How she had wanted to protect her friends... Wanted to....

"It's alright, miss." A voice spoke. "Take a deep breath."

A woman sat at the foot of her bed. Her hair was as dark as the coast. Her clothes were as white as the linen. She smiled and wrinkles revealed her to be older than at first glance.

"You're in the recovery room." She said. "We're taking care of you. My name is Doctor Lopez. I've been looking after you. How are you feeling?"

"What hap..." Strawberries mumbled.

The doctor glanced over at the monitors before she answered in a soothing voice. "You should rest, miss. You're in H-City General Hospital, the best in the world."

"What..." Strawberries gathered her strength. "What, happened?"

The doctor opened her journals. "You arrived in terrible shape. The soldiers claimed you and your friends had braved the desert? You had two gunshot wounds in the lower abdomen. You were in septic shock and underwent surgery. To be quite frank, it's a miracle you're still alive."

Strawberries' heart began pounding as she ran her fingers down her stomach. The monitor flickered wildly.

"Hey, hey." The doctor tried to relax her. "You're alright now, miss."

Strawberries reached two large cavities below her bellybutton. Stitches, zigzagging across her skin.

She threw up.

"Nurse!" Lopez called out. "Nurse!"

Another woman entered the room with a syringe.

"It's okay," she whispered through her mask.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine."

"Want some more mash?" Kiyoko asked. Her hair was cut close to her eyes, making her appear childish. Strawberries sat brooding in her wheelchair again, staring out into the air. They had strolled her, in and out, for weeks now. Onto the grassy platform for a change of scenery—as the nurses changed the sheets. Then bland food, then wash, and then back to sleep. It felt like forever. Like a prison of politeness. As if they did everything to take her mind off her broken body.

"No, I'm fine." Strawberries replied coldly.

She sat in the garden with the puffy bushes and stone path. Her eyes fixed on the ebb and flow of the people down below. The entire underground city was built on levels upon levels, each with their own neighbourhoods and households. On top was the garden with a grand view of it all.

The founding fathers, Lopez had explained, decided years ago that a hospital was a big deal. And so now, Strawberries was supposed to enjoy the hard-earned fruits of their labour.

"You sure?" Kiyoko replied. "Nothing better than some tasty potato mash. My husband loves this." She stirred the bowl and held the spoon up to her face.