NREM

Reflection 1/

It's too clean, here. And everyone who isn't stoic wears a fake smile.

I hate it here.

"Miss Wen, is everything okay?"

Tingting looked up. Bespectacled, pale, meek both in dress and overall appearance, she was small for her age of 19, made smaller by the large chair she sat in. Her rumpled clothing seemed at least a size too big.

"I'm fine, Dr. Blay."

Dr. Blay smiled from across his desk in that superficial, PR person way that was shared by the rest of the staff. His voice didn't smile with him.

"Let's see..." He glanced down at a clipboard. "You've completed your physical therapy course; you're responding well to the medication... On paper, you're right as rain. Do you have any more questions?"

Why are you lying to me?

"No... Well, I do have one. Has there been any word from my parents? Anything at all?"

"... Not that I'm aware of."

Of course. That was to be expected. Tingting simply nodded.

"Is that all?"

"Yes. I'm ready to go, now."

They both rose to their feet. Dr. Blay walked to the door and held it open. His smile had changed. It was sad-perhaps apologetic.

"7:57, March 9th, 1979, you are officially released from our care, Ms. Wen. As strange as it may sound, we're going to miss you," he said as Tingting crossed over the threshold.

"---"

How does someone respond to something like that, anyway?

Unsteadily, with the smallest twinge in each step-that pain in the absence of pain-she began to walk down the path she had dreamt of for two months. A flock of nurses wheeled a gurney down the hall past her, its occupant quite still. A heart monitor beeped from one of the other rooms. It still felt like a dream. Two months spent among bland white walls, busy people who pretended to care, the sick and the dying, had come to an end. Outside this building, life awaited her.

It terrified her.

To begin with, something wasn't right. This wasn't how a hospital was supposed to be. This wasn't how her recovery should have gone. More questions should have been asked by more people. Walking out wasn't supposed to be this easy.

Then...

There was sure to be a catch.

Outside, it was raining. Tingting stood with a dozen other people under the hospital's awning, waiting as their numbers dwindled to the taxicabs, which swooped in and out from the street to the curb. She quelled the restless feeling in her gut by pushing her rollaboard back and forth across the pavement.

By the time an unoccupied cab rolled up, Tingting was alone.

"Where to, love?" the cab driver asked her once she was inside.

"Camden Town, Chalcot Road."

They pulled away from the curb, leaving the hospital behind. In the backseat, Tingting's eyelids felt heavy. The medication had that effect, numbing her to physical and psychological pain. She pinched herself, fighting the urge to doze off.

Not until I get home. I'll be safe, there.

She already knew that no one was waiting for her.

Tingting,

I tried to support you when your "illness" began. I gave you all you asked of me and more. In return, you gave me an empty apartment and no means to support myself. Your hospital visit, while undoubtedly of great benefit to you, hurt me more than you can know. Just when it seemed you were making progress, everything was set back-All because you didn't listen to me.

I can't do this anymore. I'm going back to the dorms where I belong, and if you care for your own wellbeing, you will do the same. It may be over between us, but I want you to move past your problems. Not just for your own sake, but for the sakes of anyone you may choose to include in your life in the future.

Goodbye Tingting.

-Matt

The second story single-bedroom apartment was, of course, nearly empty. Anything that had belonged to Matt was gone-the books, the records, even the pictures on the wall. An echo that was not present before rang out with each step against the wood floor. Tingting had expected as much. She was too numb to care.

Some pasta was still in the cupboard above the sink. Tingting threw it in a pot, sitting at the kitchen table while she waited for it to boil. One of the few things that remained in the apartment was a radio, so without much thought, she turned into a station that made her feel not quite as alone. The first song that played wasn't particularly good or memorable, but it was better than silence. Anything was better than silence.

She ate her dinner robotically, washing it down with a glass of tap water. It wasn't altogether worse than hospital food; there was a certain comfort in the fact she had made it herself. However, continued survival would probably require more than water and plain pasta. Of course, that meant going out in public.

It would happen all over again.

---------Rip

-----------Slice

--------------Tear

-----------------Squelch

---------------------Drip

She stood in the market. Warm blood-blood that was not her own-dripped from her face-her hands-her clothes. It poured into her shoes. A fine red mist hung in the air, tainted by the noxious-yet-dull odor of fresh death. Her eyes watered, mouth hanging open, as the smell crawled like a worm from her nose, to her throat, to her stomach.

She stood in the middle of it all, unable to move; unable to think. The bodies around her could have been dolls, had they not exuded such warmth. Had they not bled.

---------Splash

-----------Slosh

--------------Squelch

Footsteps-wet and heavy, as if through the slush left behind by a stormy winter. They stopped just behind her. A soft voice spoke.

"I told you, didn't I? I told you there was no stopping it."

A hand rested on her shoulder.

"And now, I am free."