Exaltation

1

What a breathtaking view. To what beholds me is a lovely array of delicate flowers, engulfing the scene of a beautiful sunset. I take one final glance at the serene painting as I am being forced out of my isolated coop by my boss's henchmen, much like the rest of my neighbors.

If only Earth could radiate such beauty once again. My occupied mind begins to wander as I am being led to the familiar inspection room.

"Ah, yes. Scalpels, drills, mallets, saws. Seems like everything's in order" Mr. Vasiliev dryly reassured his mindless slaves as they wobble over to the utensil tray, picking up anything their hands can get close enough to.

"Ahem, Meint." I could hear him order my name, as protocol, they forbid me to be left unchecked. People like me, the incompetent people, do not get a chance to view the real world. We 'would not be able to handle such freedom'. Hence, the painting, in my petite cage.

I struggle to lift my malnutritioned corpse, and then limp my way to the inspection table. People who can not follow orders are labrats, to the Russian government, they are useless. I will not, nor have I ever, followed an order from these fools.

As I lay on the surgical table, the fluorescent light leaving me incapable of visualising the faces of my surgeons, the light stands, heating up the back of my eyes and leaving them dry.

I look away from the scintillant beam of light, and over to my neighbours, to which their eyes are darted back at me, cringing at the sight of the scalpel piercing my pale skin. I did not bother to worry about the unnatural stinging feeling, deep within my spleen area. I am more worried about the hollow feeling in my stomach. I could feel my desperate stomach twisting and turning, as I shake my body vigorously from the contact of the needle on my left wrist.

"You ready, Meint?" My surgeon ordered, without giving me time to declare my obvious answer. I could see his thumb pressing down on the plunger, sending a wave of cold, clear liquid through my bloodstream. My body tenses up. My mind filled with images of unrecognisable shadowy figures, I clench my teeth, wincing at the ghastly images, screeching at me.

My ears were stuffed with the annoying noise, handing me unimaginable heat and irregular sharp stings. My mouth was plenty full of saliva and foam, sliding down the left side of my face as I yell uncontrollably, creating more of the tasteless substance.

"Meint, tell me what you see!" The surgeon declared, waving his fist in front of my face, as if to threaten me. I make an attempt to inform him, but feeling the warm liquid trickle down my throat leaves me choking on my own saliva. I start coughing, sending more pressure to my pained head as I clear my throat.

"He needs an anesthetic!" The surgeon commanded at one of the nurses behind him. He then commenced to checking my blood pressure, to behold his jaw drop and small eyes widen in shock.

Not much time later, the nurse rushes the anesthetic to the surgeon, to which he injects yet another cold, liquidy substance into my veins.

After that, blackness engulfed me, as I drift off to a medically induced slumber.

- - - -

My body starts to regain consciousness, my eyes begin to feel damp and puffy, as if I was crying hours prior. I rub my itchy corneas, and bring myself up from the moist ground.

I open my eyes, and the angelic scenery took my breath away. Fields of wet grass from what could be forever away, a moon so appealing that it could resemble a gem. A cheerful scent arising fearlessly from the wet grass that surrounds me. The sound of pure silence, only my breathing.

"L...L..." A dry voice broke the silence, fear could clearly be heard from the voice. I turn to my left and squint at the figure.

"Lucas! It's... It's really you!" The voice, which was once poor of excitement, blasted with cheer, the familiar voice ran in my ears as I let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh... Oh my god, Marcel. Where-" I attempt to finish my sentence, when I got interrupted by a woman.

"You're on the edge of Ligonier, Pennsylvania." The woman corrected, making us turn our heads to her, the woman holds out her gloved hand, and we gladly take it, to wherever she desires to go.