Being a high schooler was one of the hardest things I had to do. Trying to pass my classes and not seem like an absolute weirdo to my classmates after everyone witnesses my body writhing on the ground like a snake with its head chopped off. I had a future in mind and a life to fulfill... but slowly, it was all falling apart. Not so quickly, yet in the blink of an eye, it all vanished.
I felt so off that day, walking into my French class as usual, but the air was tainted with something strange. I had sat down at my desk in the corner of the room, alone and isolated from everyone. It was my favorite spot to be at, where no one could endlessly stare at me without craning their necks and hopefully straining themselves. I had blanked off into my own little world as the teacher had walked in, shouting her boring, tasteless announcement as she always did. She was pretty attractive for her age; her smooth wrinkled face had aged well with the tight form of her body. She seemed like someone who had taken good care of her skin throughout the years.
I tried to focus somewhat on my surroundings, but my mind wandered further away from reality. Something was not quite right. Something was not quite the same.
I was tired from not getting enough sleep, which I assumed was why things had seemed just a little bit off, a little bit slow. A bell rang soon after, and my head stayed glued to its position, my eyes fixed on the grounded sketchings in the desktop. Everyone pulled out papers and pencils as the teacher began barking out instructions for the day, but my head was elsewhere, on another planet in another galaxy. It was getting more challenging for me to see what was in front of me and not get lost in the imaginary world in my head, a world that I knew would never become real. My vision had begun to grow foggy and disoriented, and the images of my schoolmates around me began to look less and less accurate. The next thing I knew, our older, wrinkled French teacher turned to the class and yelled, "Nous avons fini!" Then, she repeated something in her thick French accent, "We are finished!"
She flicked the lights off, turned on the movie, and sat down on a stool. As soon as the rays filtered into blackness, a sharp, stabbing pain ran through the back of my head. It felt as though someone was trying to rip through my scalp to grasp my brain within their grimy hands. My sight was trying to hold firm, but I was beginning to lose grasp of the life around me. It felt as though the world were moving, one blink at a time. The movie was going by, one blink after the other.
Blink – a lady on the screen was talking to someone on the side of the road.
Blink – the same woman was standing in a worn-out building all alone.
Blink – I heard a harsh whisper that sounded something like, "Shhh! Can you not do this right now?!"
A bright light flashed against my glazed-over eyes, and a roar of sound echoed in my mute ears. I could have sworn the teacher had rushed to turn the lights back on, and I saw a figure of a body standing before me, but nothing was clicking in my head, and the images were more fuzzy than clear.
The tan coloring of the surface in front of me was soon the only thing I could see in the brightness as my cranium abruptly slammed into it. I heard a crack, which I assumed was me, and felt a warmth embrace my soul. "Again." That was all I could think before I lost myself.
With a burst of energy, and in nothing but a split second, I was surrounded by... nothing. Everything was gone as if the never-ending shadows swallowed the world itself.
Everything was black, yet I didn't quite register it as unconsciousness. I could see in this blackness, and I could breathe in this blackness. There was no ground, yet I was not falling. I was out of my world, out of existence: no light, no sound, no life but me.
I was nowhere.
A chilling emptiness consumed me. There was nothing but the chill that ate at my bones. I couldn't scream for help or run from the frost-biting air. My lips would not move, and my feet would not bend to my will and walk.
As I was floating further away from my life, my home, images flashed through my head. Images that did not belong to me. Images I was not familiar with. Quickly, so quickly that it turned into a moving picture. I could see the illustrations moving from one to the next, but it was fast enough for the images to blend into one another and dance.
The images showed a woman crumpled over a hospital bed, moving so slowly... her mouth muttered silent words.
The child in the bed... she shook and shook and flailed so helplessly like her body and mind had disconnected, and it overwhelmed her fragile limbs.
And then she had just stopped, the pictures dispersed in my vision and all showed the child still and lifeless almost. And they stayed that way. The child ceased moving absolutely.
What was this? Why had the woman looked so familiar? Felt so familiar.
There was another image that had quickly replaced the last, one of the grandma sitting by the bed, a book in her hands and tears coating her cheeks. She sat by the empty child, a child whose breath was cold. Was she a child; I could no longer tell. The images began to turn fuzzy.
I could hear the grandmother's voice, though, singing ever so softly. It rang in my head. "Once upon a time," she had whimpered.
Once upon a time.
The image of the grandmother slowly flaked away, leaving the girl alone. Alone for an exceptionally long time. No one visited after grandma... she was all alone.
I couldn't stand it. It felt so familiar, and I hated it. It hurt so much... so much that my heart ached for the girl. Where was her family?!
Where was mine? Why can't I remember them? Who...who even am I?
Maybe I was only but a ghost... a fragile, little ghost.
My body went numb... or whatever body I had. I could feel my consciousness split open, insanity tearing away at the edges of my mind.
What am I doing? Where....?
Another tear, a rip that busted open my reality; I was empty, being torn apart from the inside—no pain... nothing anymore... nothing.
I felt utterly alone, betrayed. Solitude being my only companion. This was the worst pain to me; the pain of nothing and emptiness. This thought fluttered through my head, among millions of others. The idea had become my existence; it clung to me like a wet cloth. It never let go...
Slowly, that became all of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I open my eyes, eyes that I didn't know were closed. The feeling in my body is weird; it feels stiff and heavy. Have I been sleeping? My body's numb, and I can't seem to move. I can't even feel the clothes clinging to my body or the sheet that's slung over me. The room...the room is warm though, almost comforting.
A numbing warmth.
I seem to be staring up at a white ceiling for some reason. It's smooth and clean, like in a hospital. That's when my ears perk up, and I hear a soft but piercing beeping. It's a steady, constant sound, like that of my heartbeat.
This isn't home; it's too quiet.
I can't sit up to check my surroundings. I still try to look around as much as I can without needing the movement of my body. My eyes scan every inch of the room that they can find.
A hospital? Is this a hospital? It looks so... advanced.
Almost like a shock, a pain ripples through my brain like a virus through a computer, and it takes all I can muster not to scream in agony.
I can see them, my memories. Well, what seems like a distant dream. Was it a dream, or was it real? That world and that pain, the dark and empty void... it couldn't possibly be real, could it? A whole life filled my head with its memories, and they all but made sense to me. What happened to me? Where exactly am I right now, at this very moment? Is everything a dream... are these memories?
Attempting to squint past this pain, the scene before me are some monitors seemingly built inside the wall across from me. I assume that my x-rays and such are scattered around on them. Windows that lead outside are on the wall to the left of me. They are very wide and tall, much bigger than me. The curtains are open, and the setting sun is lightly leaking through, bathing the room with an orange glow.
From the right most corner of my eyes, I can see a small entryway with a short hallway. I think the door to the room is over there, but I can't see much.
The pain begins its slow throb, something I can push into the back of my mind, along with the images of a life I am struggling to believe is mine. It had to be me; why else would the visions be there. Yet, this hospital looks nothing like the hospitals that I picture in my head, that the memories show me. Something is very wrong here...
Where exactly am I?
Shouting erupts from the small hallway. Not just one voice either. People are yelling and crying and cheering as they all burst through the door like a band of madmen. The sound of their soles tapping against the tiled floor echo throughout my once quiet abode. I don't recognize any of them, but they seem to know who I am. Three kids about my age stand the forefront of the group once the stampede came to a halt, surrounding the circumference of my bed.
Wait... why don't I recognize anyone... and why are they in tears?
The rest are adults, elders, and more minor children. I stare at them as they finally settle to choke-filled sobs. They are just a small group of people, the kind that would gather around the table during Christmas. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out, nothing but a groan at least. Everything becomes quiet instantly.
My fingers twitch as I continue to stare in confusion. My eyes glance from one person to the next, trying to identify at least one member of this strange mob. I end up managing to tilt my head slightly. It feels odd to be unable to move or speak. I can't figure out how to say what I want to say. The words are there in my head, but I can't figure out what to do with my lips and tongue to speak these words. It's foreign to me.
I try again, squeezing out a mumble. My hand twitches again. I hear quiet tapping, and then a warm sensation spreads over the thin skin of my knuckles. I tilt my head to look, and I see him. This boy who is grasping my hand for deal life, smiling warmly at me as tears mark their way down his cheeks. It's the kind of look you would give to someone you haven't seen in years, a best friend, maybe more.
Yet, I don't know him. The memories in my head show nothing of him... they show nothing of anyone from this crowd. I'm scared. I'm afraid, and I don't understand.
"What is it? Do you need water?" he asks. Does he know me? I don't remember him... The look on his face says I should recognize him, but it is a complete blank to me; nothing pulls up with his features or his smile or his eyes. The boy yells something as I'm dazing and a cool glass full of liquid is almost instantaneously pressed against the palm of my hand. My fingers squeeze the glass in a child-like grip as a reflex, not quite strong enough to keep it sustained in the air. Growling in complaint like a stubborn child would do as I realize how dehydrated my throat feels, I look toward the boy sitting across from me in defeat. More competent than I first pictured him to be, the boy knew the immediate issue that I am currently having.
He slowly presses a hand into the middle of my back, sitting me up with as much ease as possible. Squeezing his hand around mine and the glass, he inclines the drink against my plump lips. My back quivers from the touch, and I resist the urge to squirm from the sensation as all I want is to feel the cool liquid slide down the back of my throat. Again, realizing how incredulously thirsty I am, I drink it quickly and sloppily. A sigh echoes from my hydrated chamber as he places the glass on the small table beside me. I had not seen it until now.
He lays me back down gingerly, moving closer to sit beside my legs on the thin, stiff matt disguised as a bed. I can't help but notice the lack of distance between us, and I can't help but feel uncomfortable; I manage to shift my body slightly away from him, feeling the tense muscles tighten as if they haven't been used in years. This is wrong, very wrong. Is this a dream? Was everything before this moment a hallucination? Is this nothing but a loop of never-ending dreams, and I'm just... dead?
Am I dead?
Without moving too much, I stretch my sore muscles, feeling the tension leave me and the sensitivity of my toes as I wiggle them against the sheet.
"Now...." the boy whispers gently.
"Who...?" I mutter. It comes out smooth enough but, it also sounds off, and my voice quakes from the pure emotion hidden beneath the words.
"What?"
"Who are you?"
He stares at me, his face contorting in confusion and maybe a hint of bitterness. He then bites his lip, flipping through something in his mind, before grabbing my hand and giving it a compassionate squeeze. A murmur blows through the crowd, reminding me of their presence.
He's staring straight into my eyes, his own a sad, liquid fire.
His eyes are, to put it promptly, a red color. But it isn't just a red brick color or the color of a crayon; it is, truth be told, like liquid fire. It's glowing, the color of wine. I almost lose myself in those eyes before I even realize it. I can't bring myself to ask the obvious question; why are they red?
The expressions on his face had come and gone so quickly, but I did see it; the echoing sadness caused by my words as if I had just given him a wound that would last a lifetime, and it hurt me, too. I don't know why, but he knows me. I don't know why, but I can't seem to remember his face at all. Could I have possibly forgotten? Forgotten a boy with such flaming red eyes? I can't bring myself to believe that it cannot be accurate. I couldn't have forgotten them all...
What's going on? I can't understand; I cannot understand anything at all. Make it stop... make this pain stop. The memories are real... that's me... no... it's not me. Everything is fake; it's false. What's real?
"It's okay..." he hums, almost silently. His face is gentle, but I can see through that façade of his, and he must be able to see through mine. My eyes must seem just as wild and confused as his does. It doesn't matter anyway because he begins to cry after thinking that. His tears splash against my boney hand, one after the other. My eyes widen in surprise as I continue to stare at his weeping form. The crying isn't what hit me; it's the fact that he's still smiling gratefully at me.
My stomach curls up inside of me as my own eyes begin to water up. I can't understand what's making him sad; I can't relate. I can't see his happiness or sorrow; all I feel is lost and afraid, and I just want to go home. I don't want to be confused anymore. I want everything to disappear, but as the seconds tick by, I grow less and less able to hold myself back. I don't know him, yet here he is, crying in front of me and smiling so warmly.
The crowd starts up again, not so loud but saddening in the least. It reminds me of the moaning of lost spirits who are drenched in unbearable agony. The room's mood is far from pleasant, and I can just about picture a giant raincloud above all our heads, including my own.
"I'm sorry...." I whisper under the constant sobbing of people that I don't recognize. The boy doesn't hear me because a smaller girl is pulling at his sleeve, most likely confused and scared. My stomach rumbles unusually, like boulders tumbling down a mountainside. I ignore it because I neither feel hungry nor in pain. I still find it odd because it's not the sort of noise you would pinpoint to be that of a stomach. I pat it once and then rub it slowly, hoping that I have imagined that sound.
Again, it rumbles, almost angrily, and I hold back a shriek of bewilderment. No one else seems to be noticing the sound, and it only seems to increase my paranoia. Then, my whole body begins to tremble, even the hand that is enclosed between the boys'. Following soon after, a sharp pain throughout my entire body that's stinging every organ in the most traumatizing way. My breath catches in my throat, and I arch my back away from the bed in pain. I can swear my skin is being peeled off, slowly, piece by tiny piece, and it burns more than I think fire ever could. Everything in my body feels like it's being twisted up, coiled, and wrapped, everything but ordinary, and my lungs give out from the pressure my body is putting on it as I stop breathing.
With the remaining oxygen in my body, whatever that may be, I scream. I scream at the top of my lungs and squeeze the boy's hand as hard as I possibly can, putting every ounce of pain I feel into it like my life depends on it. The agony only escalates, brushing past all humane boundaries and bringing my life to a completely new understanding of what it would feel like to die.
I scream; I scream loudly, but it only lasts as long as I have air in my lungs. After, it's deadly quiet. The boy stares at me, frozen in terror and doubt and so many other emotions that are plain to see, feelings that are forming into his features. I try, with little luck, to keep my eyes open, but of course, they close against my will.
And I'm gone, gone from the pain that was beginning to consume my entire body, my entire existence.
And the memories slowly leave me, waving a solemn wave. The memories can feel my pain, my torture; they do not want to cause such pain. I am empty without them and lifeless; I am no one. I watch them leave, and I chase them helplessly because I don't want to forget who I was; they are all I have. The shadow of my soul trips, and they are gone, gone into the smoke of my mind. I know, now, that I would never have been able to catch them.
From here on, everything is gone.