ARIS

The Confines

I inhaled sharply, forced my eyes open and was met with blinding white light. I was engulfed in a cacophony of sounds, the whooshing of air, the steady beeping of a machine, the sound of pen on paper, my uneasy breathing. Every sound thundered over me, pushing me deeper and deeper into my own head. My unspoken questions barrelled through my head like ships hurtling past each other during the peak of rush hour.

I tried to push myself up on my hands, but the pain that shot up my wrists and into my arms was unbearable. With a heavy head on the pillow, I tried to look around, tried to figure out where in the name of god I was. The moment I laid my eyes on the faded ivory wallpaper, attempting to dress up the metallic room on the roughest space station I'd ever been on, I knew where I was. The infirmary. The events of the last few days shot back into my head in a blaze of images, all ending with a flash of light, and then darkness.

I lifted a hand to my pounding head, but what I felt wasn't mine. The foreign skull was wrapped in a bandage, void of all hair. My heart hammered in my chest. I lifted the other hand, hoping, praying it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Cold, scratchy bandages met my fingertips. I felt anguish explode in my body. My hair, my beautiful Norse hair. Who was I without it? I wasn't going to look like a soldier anymore. I had taken such pride in the waist length hair adopted by all the soldiers. A bead for every rank you achieved, another colour for your achievements, I had just gotten my fourth. But now, now it was gone. All of it, and with it were my days as a soldier.

I laid on my back staring at the floor for a long time, completely unaware of how to act, or even how to feel. I glanced down at my hands, both wrapped up to the knuckle joint. The tips of two fingers were cut clean off, cauterized, and healing. I stared at the door, willing someone—anyone really—to come in and tell me when I was going to leave this putrid place. The over embellishment of serenity and safety in this room was enough to make anyone nauseated.

I grappled for the bed controls, tired of laying down. When I finally found them, and I was upright, something caught my attention. I stared at the end of the bed, something not right, something very wrong with the picture in front of me. Next, to my left foot, I stared at the space where my right foot should have been was flat. Nothing there. I followed the empty space, over where my knee was supposed to be, up most of my thigh before I saw leg. All of the air left my body, and I couldn't breathe. A flash of light entered my vision, and I blinked hard trying to rid the colours blocking my vision. I frantically grabbed for the bed's hand rail, and I squeezed it as tightly as I could. I could feel all coherent thought leave my body. I rocked back and forth for how long I did not know, but the click of the door opened pulled me from my stupor.

"You're awake, this is good,"

I looked up, blankly staring at the female doctor standing in the doorframe, clad in the green scrubs and tell-tale short cropped hair of the medi-staff.

"I guess so," I muttered lowly.

"We need to check your vitals, see how your wounds are healing," She inched further inside the room, but still did not fully come in.

"Okay."

She finally pushed in and shut the door behind her. She hovered on the perimeter of the room still, though, awkwardly gripping the chart clipboard.

"What's your problem?"

She jumped when I spoke, her eyes shutting tightly, "Nothing...nothing's wrong."

I laughed lowly, "You're a terrible liar."

Her eyes glued themselves to the paper in her hand, I could see her hand shaking like a feather. I could see her looking at me out of the tops of her eyes, playing it off as though she was still reading my charts.

"Do I smell or something?" I called out, watching her watch me feeling like a leper.

She jumped again, nearly dropping the charts this time. "No. Let's keep this brief, I am only here to make sure you're not dying. It's better for us both if you keep the talking to a minimum."

"Better for us both? What the hell are you talking about?"

She snorted but immediately tried to cover it with a shaky hand, "at least you have a good sense of humour still."

I shook my head. Of course. The accident. I should've known. It felt like a bowling ball had fallen into my stomach. I looked back down at the bed, suddenly feeling very ashamed of myself. She bustled around me, checking the monitors around me, checking the tubes that were in my body. She avoided looking at me, avoided saying anything, and the silence only made me feel worse.

What had I done?

I closed my eyes, the darkness behind my eyelids trapping me in my own private prison.

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