Bring Me to Life

Prologue

Pain.

That was the one word that described everything going on around me. Absolutely everything. My vision was being flooding with light, blinding me.

“We have a heartbeat! Keep it steady!” yelled a man. Everything sounded as if it was happening a mile away, all while being drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in my ears.

“Hurry up and keep her blood pumping!” a woman shouted. My vision slowly came into focus as another younger man flashed a penlight into my eyes, forcing me to blink rapidly. The man that leaned over me had sandy blonde hair framing his gentle, kind face. He had a shadow of stubble on his chin with wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled down at me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted with a grin. What was this? Some sick joke? “It’s okay. Once we get your heartbeat regulated and run a few tests, you can go rest. There is nothing to worry about. You are in very good hands,” he said lightly, smiling the entire time.

Then I realized I was tired, just like he said I would be. Soon everybody filed out of the room, leaving me alone in the blank-white room with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

I mentally slapped myself. What was going on? Where was I? Who was I? How was I even able to function? Why did I know things like the alphabet, names of different colors, and could talk? Or at least I thought... I hadn’t said anything out loud yet. I really hoped I could talk... How I hoped I wasn't mute. But, at least I was somewhat educated.

“This room is freezing...” I blankly stated to myself. So I could talk. My nose started to run from the temperature of the room, and as I sniffled, my nose tingled. I raised my hand to shield the oncoming sneeze, but instead heard a small clink of steel.

“Achoo!” I sputtered, unable to hold it back anymore. Gazing down, I saw metal chains and cuffs holding me down by the wrists and ankles.

Right then, I noticed the small tattoo on the outside of my left calf. The tattoo read, A-12-L-9-1. What on Earth did that mean? Is that how they referred to me? As I pondered all the possible reasons for having that tattoo on my leg, I overheard some doctors on the other side of the door. The door appeared to be made of titanium, with smaller screws adorning the edges. It was to the west of the table I was placed upon; so I propped myself up onto my elbows as much as I could, craning my neck to the right, straining to hear every last word.

“Boss, it worked! We actually succeeded in bringing a dead body back to life!”