Coming 2021
Fear rakes my body when I wake in the strange room; I cannot remember how I got here. The room is small and dark, lit by a single overhead light bulb hanging from the low ceiling. The floor is concrete, but overall, this room has the feeling of a dungeon. The bed is a simple, metal frame, with a thin mattress and thin but clean quilt. My body hurts all over like I’ve been hit by a truck. I inspect myself in the dim light, but I don’t appear to have any bruises or wounds. Perhaps I have the flu; I feel extremely hot and covered in a cold sweat. There is a small metal table beside the bed, where I see a bottle of water sitting there. I test the lid finding it is thankfully still sealed; I assume it safe to drink. I crack the seal and take a drink. It is heavenly; I gulp down the whole bottle.
I lean myself against the wall behind the bed and hug my knees. I am in so much pain, and I have no idea where I am. I hear someone moving down a corridor outside this room, causing me to tense in fear. From the echoing of their steps, I can tell they are still far away. I look around the room for something to use as a weapon as my breathing gets close to hyperventilating, but I see nothing. As the steps get nearer, I shrink back into the corner of the bed tight to the wall. Despite feeling as though I have a fever raging through my body, I shiver as though I am freezing as the adrenaline courses through my body in anticipation.
As the door opens, a figure tentatively walks in.
“You,” I screech accusatorily. “Where is he? Does he know what you’ve done?”
“Yes, Bailey, he brought you here. He had some business to take care of, then he’ll be back.” He answers.
“What business?” I ask angrily.
“Something to help keep you safe,” he responds.
“Keep me safe,” I shout, “that’s rich. What have you done to me? I am in so much pain,” I whimper?
“We’re here to help you, Bailey; you’re becoming what you were always meant to be,” he says cryptically.
“I don’t understand,” I say, calming a little; I can hear the honesty in his voice.
“He’ll explain everything when he gets back. Right now, rest. The next few days are going to be tough,” he says. “I’ll have some food and more water brought down for you.”
“Please, please, let me leave here. Let me go back to my apartment,” I beg.
“The stillness of this room with help with your hypersensitivity as you get through the next few days. Trust me, this is the best place for you.” He says not harshly, but without feeling. After finishing this statement, he turns on his heel and disappears. I jump up and run to the door, but it is locked. I cannot escape. I bang my fists on the door and scream, but no one returns.
Virginia Tomlinson - Author 