Pixelated (NaNo 2017)

Chapter Sixteen

    it started in the toes. a tingling sensation. building, but not in a good way. like there was more pressure than he was prepared for.

    then it spread.

                                    an explosion. cataclysm. sparks and snaps to fragment the darkness and to stab the silence.

the tingling moved and swirled, pulsating and oscillating through the body, the movements almost beautiful. as if water colors on a canvas, it grew, expanded, thickened and worsened.

and then it was only in the head. gathering in the forehead, budding, so intense it was a shock any one body could take so much pain; so much change; such mutation. then DIFFUSION.

like the flame on a matchstick, it was snuffed out, and the flowing, endless darkness pursued once more.

++++

"Ow," Grayson said as he awoke, moving a sore hand to rub the back of his head. He couldn't remember anything other than an inability to breathe, a brief spout of pain, and then waking up here. He was in a room surrounded by so many beeping machines he thought his brain would be turned to goo from all the noise.

The walls were white, and his bed had handles along the side. He wasn't dressed in the clothes he'd gone to bed in. The best way he could describe what he was wearing would be a dress. A dress with leggings to cover his legs. And an open back, which he couldn't understand why.

He breathed out, the breath wheezing and weak. A stench of chemicals was so strong in the air his nose burned, and Grayson could barely put together a coherent thought.

Despite the frigid temperature of the room, Grayson's body was red all over, and he was still covered in sweat, his hair wet and straw-like because of it. In his stomach, a debilitating nausea brewed, and he felt if he moved more than just his hand, he would puke from the effort.

That was the other thing. His limbs felt like lead. His whole body did, really. He didn't think he could sink further into the mattress if he tried, and the idea of merely walking across the room was out of the question.

Still, Grayson could turn his head, and his vision was clear. He blinked a few times, before saying, "Hello? Where am I?"

He thought he said it loudly, but he couldn't be sure. For all he knew, the beeping that surrounded him had drowned out his noise.

Grayson's back ached, and it was only now that he noticed there was a needle stuck into his left arm. He jumped at the sight, the object only dully pulsing.

"God, this technology is so weird. A needle? In my arm? Really?" Grayson didn't realize he'd said it aloud until the words were echoing through the room.

He tilted his head, staring forward, unsure of what to do with himself other than focus on the pain he had along his shoulder blade.

After what felt like hours of Grayson examining the room around him, somebody finally walked in. Grayson turned at the noise, groaning as his sore muscles moved.

"How are you?" Grayson didn't need to fully see his face to know that Michael stood before him.

"Why are you wearing a coat?" were the first words out of Grayson's mouth.

"We're keeping it cold in here," Michael explained, "because you have a bad fever. Your body temperature is incredibly high, so we've lowered the temperature in the room so that you can feel a bit more comfortable, though it seems our efforts weren't entirely worth it."

Grayson's mind wasn't clear enough to notice Michael's upturned nose at the stench that emanated from Grayson.

"What happened?" Grayson asked, disregarding his last comments. "What did I feel? Why was I so sick? What were those terrible breaths I had. They tasted so bitter."