I didn't want to wake up. It felt like I had been burned alive.
As soon as I began to shiver out of a restless sleep, I immediately wished I hadn't. The back of my eyelids were orange, warning of the light beyond if I opened my eyes, and that was enough for me. I was more than preoccupied with the unbearable pain that racked almost every inch of my body, from my scalp to my toes. My skin felt tight, like I was wearing someone else's. A sharp, irritating tingling sensation engulfed my body, as if I was covered in thousands of ants. Not a single part of my body had been spared. Everything hurt and itched. The soles of my feet, my hip bones, parts of my chest that should've been tucked away—everything.
Blinded by the pain and discomfort, I stayed where I was for a while. Even the process of breathing was a challenge. Sharp jolts of pain shot through me every time my chest rose or fell, teasing my nerves until I could only bear to breathe in short, wheezing breaths. The back of my mind screamed for relief, screamed for me to rip my skin off and put a stop to it all. Every twitch of my fingers, though, was almost enough to make me cry out.
It took some time before I realized that someone was touching me. The itching, burning sensation on my skin almost prevented me from noticing that someone was sticking me with a needle. I almost didn't feel it, lost in the sea of pain. Slowly, I felt a cooling sensation spreading through my body, first in my bicep and then up into my chest. I eagerly followed the trail of relief across my chest, down my other arm, and eventually, down to my stomach and legs. Although the pain was still all too present, the intensity had ebbed, and soon enough, the burning, itching sensation left my skin.
Steeling myself, I blinked open one eye, squinting at the ceiling. The world was bright enough to give me an instant headache, but not overpowering enough to hold me down. When my other eye opened, it took a few minutes for the world to swim into focus. My ears, which felt as if they had been stuffed with cotton, gradually opened up again, and I concentrated on any noises I could pick out.
There was the hum of a machine, a steady metallic beeping, and the soft sound of someone breathing. I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, my mind straining to remember where I was. Finally, after a few minutes, I mustered the strength to turn my head.
At my bedside sat a young man, maybe in his mid-to-late twenties. Everything was still a little blurry, but I recognized the mop of dark hair and fair skin. His uniform, based on the color, was a pilot's, the name badge obscured by my tired eyes.
For a split second, I imagined it was Ravi Patel sitting there, and with a burst of strength I didn't know I had, I shot upright in my bed. Immediately, my body screamed in protest, and all of the air whooshed out of my lungs. A cry died in my throat, overwhelmed by a thick wave of pain that cascaded from my head all the way down to my toes. The world fragmented, as if in a kaleidoscope, and my recently cleared hearing faded into a high pitched buzz. My mouth tasted like blood.
When the wash of agony finally let up, I found myself once again lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. I bit my lip in preparation to turn my head again, but when I did, all I tasted was metal.
As my vision came back, the young man sitting beside me leaned over me. I didn't have time to entertain another jolt of fear before he gently laid his hand over my forehead.
"Yun?" I croaked, my dry throat squeezing against the word.
My brother took his hand away from my head and let it rest on my arm. "Hey, El."
Tears immediately began to well in my eyes. Was it the pain? The fact that I never got to say a real goodbye to my brother, and I never thought I'd see him again? I wasn't sure, but the air caught in my throat as tears built in my eyes.
