Her unordinary Ordinary

Crimson.

Nebula's PoV:

The last thing I remember is the pain. The searing, unforgiving pain. I don't remember how it got to be...but I know I never want it to happen again. I keep seeing red, not the bright red you see decorating Christmas tree's and porches, not the color of fresh cherries. But a dark crimson red. It painted the ground...and my side. Maybe that's where the pain came from? Maybe that's why the pain is still here...and it doesn't seem to be leaving any time soon.

Slowly I feel myself being pulled from the murky water of unconsciousness. Different colored spots dance in my line of vision even though I hadn't opened my eyes yet, a part of me doesn't want to open them at all. Cold seeps into my skin from all directions making me shiver. I reach out a hand and feel around. Cold, hard, unforgiving metal meets my shaky and clammy hands. I slowly open my eyes, the light seems to pierce into them, making my whole head throb. I cover my eyes with my hands, shielding them from the light daggers. I slowly pull them away and my eyes adjust. I look around and realize... I'm inside a damn box. A cold, what looks like steel, box. I place both my hands on the walls to my sides, the world dips and spins at the slightest movement of my head. I slide back until my back comes into contact with the harsh cold of the back wall.

The walls outside the cage or box thing I'm in are a bright white. They look like the tiles walls in most hospitals. White lights line the ceilings, making harsh light rain down into the room. Despite that, the room is deathly cold and smells of antiseptic. It smells just like a hospital would...is that where I am? In a hospital? But...they wouldn't put someone in a box...or a cage. This is all like a bad dream...which I really hope it is.

A jabbing pain in my side pulls me from the sea of thoughts swimming in my head. A small voice tells me not to look down...but curiosity gets the best of me and I foolishly look down. Crimson, black, blue, purple, and red decorate my pale skin. It takes me a second to realize what's holding my side together. I gingerly touch the stitches and freeze when my hand moves across silken fabric and not the plastic that usually holds wounds closed. Did they close my side...with fabric? They have to be just silk stitches right? Even as I try to lead my self away from the truth, something tells me I'm right. They closed my side with what seem to be thin strips of a bed sheet woven across the slashes and keeping me from bleeding to death. They saved me...but why? And what for? At what cost am I going to pay for surviving... I don't wanna find out.