My Stranded Sanity: A Niall Horan Fanfiction

Chapter 1

"So today's your day," Judith strolled in. Another bland day in the hospital was awaiting. That was until, 2:30 this afternoon when I could (legally, this time) be released.

"You excited?" she pondered, seeming somewhat curious of my answer, although I know just as much as she does she couldn't care less.

"Eh. I guess. I could pretend to be intensely enthusiastic, just for you." I offer her a small and friendy smile without teeth, I could visualize my small dimples being carved into the smooth flesh of my pale skin; it is winter anyways. She obliged to my offer and smiled six times as much as I, her teeth exposed, contrasting away from her blond-ish white hair. She was older, late fifties or early sixtees was my guess.

"Good, good. So when do you get out of here," she gave me another green tray with another bagel with not a spec of surface exposed and another plastic cup of orange juice. "Later in the afternoon?"

"Yes. 2:30." This woman is relentless in conversation.

"Well, that's uh, that's good." she's waisting the time I'm spending thinking about leaving.

"Mhm." I sigh, hoping she takes it as a dismissal. She does, and she gives her daily goodbyes and an additional "good luck".

By the time 2:25 rolls around, I'm completely prepared for it. 'I won't miss a thing,' I guarantee myself. I'm out this damned door by the time I complete a brief glance to the plastic mirror that was permanantly attacted to the empty vanity. Feeling giddy and excited, more excited than I've ever been, I drag my heafty suitcase down three flights of stairs to the main floor. I pass patients that I had not become very close with in the halls, some saying "goodbye" or "have fun" or "lucky", some ignoring me; not saying anything at all.

I've longed this moment for so long. I grow stocked-full with anticipation as the receptionist, Clara, knows my time has come, and blatantly stares at me as I walk faster each step I take to the point where I'm almost running. It's exciting, intimidating almost.

"Hi, Nicole. Are you ready to check out?" she glances at me through her thin, metal framed glasses. I nod and she types into her computer, and a printer begins to roar, spitting out ink stained white sheets. She hands me multiple papers and a blue pen.

I look through the sheets, reading and signing and reading and signing for nearly an hour. When she recieves themi she requests I take a seat in the lobby and that she'll be finished revising momentarily.

I take a seat on a lush couch, every fiber of the cushion sinking under my touch. I find ways to entertain myself until my session was interuppted with a call.

"Nicole Sousa?" Clara declares. I scurry up all my things and hurry to the desk. "You're all set to go!" she smiled at me and I rushed out the door, buttoning up my thick coat.

It felt strange being in a different environment. Instead of looking down on the world from a distance, I was looking up at it; experiencing it. It was a good strange. I liked it. Winds brustled around me, passing around me like it was a horse and I was the obstacle. My hair whipped and whirled, following the patterns of the rapid, cold wind. It was December, and lights were strung everywhere, decorations, patches of ice on the concrete, frost crusting the light green dead grass of the city. The buildings were tremendous, taller than anything I've ever seen. The skies were an illusional bright white-ish gray, like when it's snowing or about to snow, making neon colors pop and contrast from the bland. Buzzes of the city and heavy winds blended together. There were Christmas carols being harmonized with the echoing voices of salesmen and Salvation Army bells.

There were tons of yells, suddenly, and puffy coats of different crowded around a single building a block down that had the words "GOOD MORNING AMERICA" in a neon set of oranges and yellows and blues on a sign, hanging right above the entrance. I felt my eyebrow crease into a curve as I grew curious. A large black car, followed by a smaller white one, drove near the girls hollaring names and letting out piercing screams, waving colorful signs that were too far to make out. I squinted my eyes in an attempt to clear my vision, but was a failed one.

Within a minute or two of me standing there, on the side walk, observing this strange behavior, the screamings increased and it rattled the pavement. I saw heads bobbing up and down, waving and hugging the girls. Five heads I had counted. I begin to panic and I feel myself walking towards there, absentmindedly. My pulse grew insane. The shouts were getting louder and louder as my head began getting lighter and lighter, fuzzy dots coating my vision. I wasn't used to this kind of behavior at all, and I was only partially consious at this point. I was still walking fast with my suitcase rolling behind me, trying to get away but only getting closer. More people appeared, all around me. People were running from all different locations to get there. My head was buzzing and shaking and feeling abnormally light. I began crying and shaking and running; trying to escape the crutial crowd. I felt my knees beginning to wobble along with me, giving out. Thousands of them. There were thousands of them before I fell. I fell hard onto the ground and that's when it ended.

Black. All I see is black. I feel empty and hollow, as if I'm gone on the inside. I feel rushed and fuzzy hollars around me, like I drawed unwanted attention. I felt numb and I couldn't move. I felt paralyzed. I lie there, trying to shout at all the strangers surrounding me, circling me. I can't make out anything they're saying. In a matter of literally seconds, I lose all consiousness, and I lie on the ground outside in New York City, thousands crowded around me, shouts and touching and all feelings were all gone. Gone. Maybe that's what I am. Gone.