Mind Games

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Yep, she's a lucky one," I hear a familiar voice from above me say. "Just think of the incredulity of this incident. A small car racing at forty-five miles per hour. That's about forty pounds of pressure on the human body. Think about the strength she must have! And to get out of that with just three broken ribs and a concussion…astound—"

"—will you shut up?" I hear Mark interrupt.

"I was just making a point," He says again. "Poor folks are all so bitter!"

"Now you were just making me irritated." Mark sneers.

"I second that," Another voice says, which I decide is Hank. I push my eyelids open, and nearly jump off the bed when I realize I'm in a hospital. Mark, Hank, a doctor, and none other than Tavious Jones sat in chairs around me.

"Hi, my name is Tavious Jones. How ya doin'?" He shoots up out of the chair and holds a microphone beneath my chin."What do you remember? Do you have a headache? Did you see what model the car was?" He yaks on and on. I can’t believe it; Tavious Jones. The Tavious Jones. At my bedside. He looks just as plastic as he does on TV as he is in person. But then again, most everyone looks like porcelain these days. A few years ago, I doctor named Venus Tarries reinvented plastic surgery. He made it possible to inject pigments into the eyes to change their color, plaster different chemicals on skin to perfect it, and even change skin color. Ever since then, plastic surgery have been all the rage for the wealthy folks who could afford it. But for families—like mine and Hank's—who are barely hanging on, it's completely out of the price range. Though I always have that lingering thought in the back of my head that  says Hank's eyes were pigmented; they are such an unnatural robin's egg blue. But the one time I asked him he said, "Me? Plastic surgery? Please. I can't stand the rich, synthetic people who get those procedures done." So I guess I'll take his word for it. I just look at Tavious, not saying anything. Eventually, he takes his seat, feeling rejected.

"How are you feeling?" Hank asks.

"Why am I in a hospital?" I bark. Mark looked to the floor solemnly.

"You, you…you tried to commit suicide." He utters. I can't help but let a laugh tumble off my tongue. They all look at me as if I'm crazy.

I stop giggling almost immediately and say, "That is not what happened," as seriously as possible.

"Then what did happen. America's eager to know," says Tavious, readying his pen and notebook.

"I dunno," I say. Tavious looks distraught.

"I need details," He whines. "I've interviewed dead people more exciting than you. I have other stories to cover too, I can't be wasting my time on answers like I dunno…" he imitates.

"Fine, I'll just tell the truth. That I have no idea what made me start walking. That I had no control of myself at the time. I was like…in a trance." I divulged.

Mark, wide-eyed, nods at the doctor standing in the corner of the room, "Yeah, you're right, she's still mentally unstable,"

"She is perfectly stable!" Tavious snaps, then returning to me. "Now go on about this trance of yours, how did you break it? How do you think you got into it?"

"That's what I figured, Mark," The doctor replies, recording it on a clipboard and ignoring Jones. Then the doctor turns in my walks over to me. "I'm doctor Axis Horoner. Yesterday, you walked straight into the middle of the road and were hit by a car. Lucky for you, the car saw you and slowed down, and you managed to survive the accident with—"

"—Three broken ribs and a concussion, yeah, yeah. But I really didn't commit suicide." I try to explain, when suddenly, Axis steps out of the shadows. Fiery red hair. Long canines. My whole body freezes with fear.