Sleeping Wildflowers

2. Choiceless Listlessness

The drugs did not silence much. For about a week or two, he was drifting in and out of half-sleep. He wasn't sure if he really went to sleep at all, because he was mostly aware even when his eyes were closed. He could hear everything quite clearly after the first few days when all the other noise faded. It was easier, too, to hear with his eyes closed.

When he was awake, with his eyes open, it was usually as directed by his doctors, who didn't let him stay up long. He knew some procedures were being done on him because he could hear them. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't see anything. But he heard the sound of scalpels carefully running across his skin, heard them clatter on the trays. The rustling of gloves taken on and off. The squelch of flesh. That was the most uncomfortable, once he realized what it was.

After those two weeks and into the new year, he was gradually reintroduced to waking consciousness. It was eerily quiet compared to awareness behind the veil, even though really it was louder because there was more going on. More people came in and out of the room. It seemed there was a set visitor list for Asellan: the only people he saw for weeks, perhaps months, were his mother, Isern, and the doctors. He thought he thought he saw his father once or twice in the first few months.

Asellan had two doctors: the melting man, Seyth, and a woman who did not melt but was just as unsettling, Madlan. Seyth made the big decisions and Madlan only existed to argue with Seyth. Seyth also had an assistant, Ispan, who was much less unsettling than the others.

In the mornings, Asellan was woken by Ispan, who gave him a dose of miur, not enough to make him sleepy but enough to numb him. Then Asellan had about ten minutes of peace before Seyth came in and tried to make him do things. Sometimes Madlan showed up to argue with Seyth, and usually Asellan pretended to fall unconscious again because it made them speak softer, as if they were afraid they would wake him, even though they thought he was drugged and unaware.

"Can you move your head?" Seyth asked. Asellan thought it was a dumb question when the first time he'd been conscious he'd been nodding at will. But then he tried and he couldn't move his head any longer. So he had no way of communicating at all. Asellan blinked to show that he was at least conscious.

"Okay," Seyth said slowly. "Well, that's not really a cause for concern; it was expected. Let's start small, then. Can you lift your hand for me?"

Asellan raised his hand, just slightly over the bed. It didn't feel as if he had any joints, as if his arm were just a long straight stick attached at the shoulder, and though he was numb there was a strange strain, so he lowered it quickly.

"Just your hand," said Seyth.

Asellan tried to bend at the wrist and found that he could only do so with tremendous mental effort. Perhaps there was physical strain too, but he couldn't feel it.

"Okay," Seyth said again. "That's okay. How about—"

Madlan came into the room then, the same way she always did. She was always very loud about it: slamming the door as if she had a grudge against it, stomping around as if she did not know how to use her feet. "What are you doing?" she snapped at Seyth. She had remarkable consistency in tone and pitch with that phrase.

"I'm seeing where he can move."

"And why would you think he can move?" she said.

"Because he just did," said Seyth.

"Yeah, he moved his hand a finger's width off the bed! He didn't get his wrist chopped off, you incompetent bag of sweat," said Madlan. "Who cares if he can move his hand?"

Asellan closed his eyes. Almost instantly the room hushed.

"He can't move his head," Seyth whispered.