Hope Unraveling

Chapter 1

            My eyes snapped open, immediately ceasing the shuddering that I somehow knew coursed through my body just moments earlier. I looked around slowly. There were bags of blood  everywhere. My blood. I thought, almost subconsciously, like a reflex. There were doctors too. They rushed around busily with sorrowful looks plastered on their faces. I frowned in confusion. They said there was a chance I would survive. I did! Why were they not celebrating? They almost appeared to be grieving instead. Maybe they thought I was dead! 

            "I'm alive!" I croaked. But they didn't seem to hear me. "Hello?" I said, louder this time. "I'M ALIVE!" I screamed with all of my might, ignoring the apparent frailty of my lungs. But the doctors seemed to be deafened to my voice. 

            "So young...only 32...poor, poor woman..." Low mutters echoed around me.  What did they mean? I was right here! I was alive. Why couldn't they see? Slowly, I pushed myself up, my arms trembling with exertion. My cold, thin hands clutched my hospital dress together as I carefully scooted to the edge of the bed. I slid off the bed, struggling to balance on cramped and stiff legs. As I looked around, I caught a glimpse of a large mirror that hangs on the door to my room. 

             Dodging the doctors that bustled about the room, I stumbled up to the sheet of glass, gazing steadily at my emaciated reflection. Other than the haunted look that now forever filled my eyes and the gauntness that was evident in my hollow cheeks, I looked the same as always. Warm, caramel colored skin. Almond shaped eyes like amber pools, glassy with heartache. Frizzed, curly brown hair that bounced around my shoulders. Barely noticeable streaks of gray ran through it, concealed by the rest of the mass of billowy hair. Long-standing bags under my eyes, a result of the persistent exhaustion that had tormented me since the beginnings of the plague. Why couldn't they see me? I looked down at my hands in confusion, examining my palms intently as if they could provide answers. 

            A surgeon brushed past me briskly, nearly knocking me off my feet. Reflexively, I turned to glare at him as I opened my mouth for a lecture. But one look at the young doctor's face and I pressed my lips together quickly. 

            "Matias." I whispered. My throat constricted and I resisted the urge to throw myself at my beloved younger brother. I never thought I would see him again. His molten gold eyes, so much like my own, brimmed with unshed tears. My hand shook as I cautiously reached out to touch his cheek. My finger gently grazed the stubble that speckled his jawline. But Matias seemed not to feel it as tears rolled silently down his cheeks. Tentatively, I took his familiar face in my hands and tenderly pressed my chapped lips to his forehead. My own tears dripped onto his cheeks, adding to the stream that drowned his face. My tears, crying because I was alive and nobody would ever know. Gingerly, I relinquished my grasp on him, drawing away. My heart ached with a fierce yearning as I watched, helpless, as my brother mourned me for nothing.  Why couldn't they see me? Or hear me? Or feel me? Frustration coursed through my veins and I closed my eyes in sorrow as I turned away from Matias, confusion clouding my thoughts as a terrible feeling of isolation crashed over me. 

            An utter sense of hopeless overwhelmed me as I hobbled back towards my bed. I was ALIVE. Why did they think I wasn't? As I approached my bed, I found the answer. And a scream erupted from between my lips.