At six-freaking-thirty-five in the morning, IIroll onto my side and stuff the thin pillow against my ears. Instead of being awakened by a blasting alarm, speakers outside echoed the sound of a lonely guitar-slash-piano song over and over. Some whiny dude croons about the greatest love of all. And while the syrupy sounds don't get me out of bed, a new wave of nausea does.
I tip-toe run across the cold floor still wearing the ugly uniform I'd slept in. The bathroom is barely close enough to make it. In one of the stalls, I emptied my gut. I wish I could say it helped. But even when I was done, the queasiness still lingered. Please let this be the flu. Please. Please. Please. A contagious bug can get me voted off this stupid mountain.
I flush the toilet and turn to leave practically running right into Rowena.
I almost punch her, freaking stalker. Odds are eerily high that she sat at a monitor and watched me sleep. I can't contain my shudder.
"What do you want?"
"You still can't keep food down."
"So." She can't honestly believe she can control my bodily functions. I lean, hand on my hip, wishing I had more in my stomach to sustain me. Fighting this witch requires superhero strength.
"I'm taking you to the clinic."
"Big of you." I look at her from the tips of her Frankenstein shoes to her ugly mug and back again.
She extends her hand and I grab the neon parka she got from my room. So much for privacy. She opens her palm toward the exit and I don't even care that I haven't brushed my teeth or combed my hair or anything. Go ahead, take me to the clinic. I look forward to it. Gives me a perfect escape plan. Better than hiding in the snow or mimicking my pulse. I hope I'm sick enough to medivac me out of this hell.
In my used boots, I slosh outside. Rowena shines her flashlight through the pre-dawn darkness. The lonely song continues to play over and over again. The crackle from tree-top speakers emphasizes the isolation. I haven't seen a soul since I dropped Dee Dee off in her room. Makes me wonder if I'm stuck alone in the apocalypse with Frankenstina. Gross.
Pineneedles crunch under our feet between random patches of melted snow. The beam of light only emphasizes the dark shadows outside of its circle. Something skitters through the dry brush. I hug my arms tighter around me and continue to look over my shoulder in the cool morning. God I need to get out of here.
We enter the main cabin and the ugly guard takes me back to the room where I was strip searched and leaves me alone. Great. From shadowy forests to shady rooms. They can bite me if they think I'm taking off one item of clothing. With my parka zipped to my chin, I curl up on the padded table. In a fetal position I wait. I'm here for one reason, get diagnosed with the super flu and go home. Well, probably not home, but at least off this creepy mountain.
Time must have passed because I'm startled awake when the nurse enters. In a few minutes she takes my temperature, blood and urine. "You can go," She barks shooing me from the room.
"What about the diagnosis."
"Later, come back later." She closes the door and leaves me in the hallway where Rowena stands at attention. Great. Whatever. I can wait a few hours for the news. I follow my captor outside.
The sun has risen and trees act innocent. The moist, pine air has been replaced with the smell of bacon. I closed my eyes and inhale. I remember Nanny Bella in the kitchen. It's a week-end, calm, no rush. The chirp of birds seemed to ask, what is that marvelous smell?
I open my eyes. Thesebug-eating mountain birds wouldn't know the pleasure of bacon. They don't have the luxury of dining on people food like their city friends. Oh, the brain and what it can remember. My life wasn't' always this awful. I've had moments where tests and guards and life didn't matter. A calm place where paintings and art are created. Simple, special, wonderful moments resurrected by a single scent. Bacon.
Rowena's glares at me as she hands me a muffin and a banana.
"What's this?"
"Time to for the tour."
"Wait? No bacon?"
"The nurse said to wait for your test results."
"But..."
She walks away before I can finish. I drop my hands to my side. A banana in one hand and a stupid muffin in another. This place seriously sucks. Why cook bacon if people can't eat it? I shake my head and follow her to where Jackson and Fisher stand.
Fine. I don't care. As soon as those test results come, I'll be free. And I'll eat all the bacon I want.
YOU ARE READING
The Center
Teen FictionHidden high in the Rocky Mountains, The Center houses inmates ages twelve to twenty-two. The experiment in reform isn’t without controversy. Blogs report students being tasered or tortured in a dungeon. Eighteen-year-old, Courtney Manchester doesn’t...