STERILE

i

I open my eyes to find that I'm still in the waiting room for a medical office, a dangerous place to be.

My parents always tell me that I am not safe here, despite the lack of anything harmful anywhere.
They don't understand. I am not and never have been afraid of the dark corners that lurk with germs, full of a possible lack of hygiene and the most terrifying thing of all, the risk of catching an illness.
Even though nothing remotely harmful is harboured within our strong walls, it is what keeps them up at night. It is what everybody fears.

It's what suffocates me. The overwhelming oppression against the real world, how things used to be.
Not for me. It hasn't been like that for centuries, all I know of 'nature' is from the computers, though I'd be punished if they thought I was intrigued by such things.

I am in the waiting room for a medical office because I've been sent to collect my family's health supplies.
Most families only collect them once a month, but we go bimonthly, as my parents are one of the wealthiest, and want pure health, not even a hiccup out of place.

I don't often go to collect it, it gets delivered, though this time Mother was impatient.
She thought she heard someone cough, a low class person perhaps, and she's incredibly worried for her wellness, even with her 'gold class' surgical mask.

My plastic enveloped hands reach through the wrapped seal of today's lotion, which I applied to my lips. The weather is cold and dry, so we're not allowed to be outside, but even inside, it's too dry.

I hate the feel of the plastic against my skin, though I'm more than used to it.

"Anya Withers", a name brings me out of my thoughts
My name.
I stand up and I make my way over to the desk, collecting our designated health supplies.
As I walk down the hallway, exiting the building to another series of hallways, a cold burst of air brushes past me. It's almost lunchtime, my parents will become worried if I'm not home before then.

Starting to rush, my foot catches on something on the ground. My feet fall out from under me, and I fall to the floor.
My hands brush against something, it must have been the thing that caused me to fall. It's unusual, all surfaces are generally immaculate, sparkling with layers of every kind of disinfectant.

I glance over.
Oh no

I tripped over a bundle of scrunched up tissues.
My breathing began to quicken, this is bad.
I walked down the hallway until I reached my familiar door, the first one.

I'm not afraid of becoming ill, I'm only afraid of the consequences I would face. I don't know really what I fear, perhaps it's the unknown that is scarier than anything.