Fate of the Only One Left

Awakening

Bethany 05629

That's what it says, written in perfect little black ink letters on the pale inside of my wrist. At first the symbols blur together but finally sharpen and I can read them. Bethany is a name. Is it my name? What are all the numbers for? I start to trace over the letters with my finger but find that it's too big for the tiny print, and get distracted by a blue line that interconnects with few others from my arm but then disappears.

Veins, that's what they're called. At least, that's what my brain tells me they're called. I don't remember actually learning the word, though. In fact I don't remember learning anything. I start to wonder if that was the first breath I ever took in, sitting on the crisp white sheets, and if I wasted it in a quick moment that I didn't even know it was my first.

I blink up and the bright lights that are in neat lines on the ceiling, and think that something about them is making my mind ache just looking. My eyelashes cast a shadow over my vision and I blink again. How did I know to do that? Blink. It just came naturally. I tilt my head and gaze all around the room, taking in my surroundings rapidly like water guzzling down my throat if I were parched. All I see is whitewhitewhite. Its hard to distinguish the furniture from the walls and likewise. Then my head starts to spin and I let myself fall back down onto the soft matress.This is tiring.

A thought strikes me again, and I think that soon I will become very bored of all these realizations, though now they all seen brilliant and new, the thought was that I just awoke for the first time. I took in a first breath to virgin lungs, my first touch and my first blink, my first heartbeat, my first thought. I am astounded by the newness of everything. Absently I trace over the letters on my blue-veined wrist, and wonder if that is a habit. I don't think of this at first, but when the strange feeling of wrong-ness settles over me I realize that I can't have habits yet, if I just came into existence how can something be familiar to me.

Another idea pops into my head like a popcorn kernel bursting, a violent action that leaves my head stinging. If I just came into existence, shouldn't I have been born? I think over this thoroughly, I am almost certain that I am not a child, a baby, let alone a newborn. My wrist is full grown, and I'm almost positive that children do not have as complicated thought processes as I do.

I shift my head on the pillow in the indent that I've made their with my head, it's very comfortable. I lift my hands high up in front of my face, my arms extending for a far reach, and I flex my fingers. They respond with the sound of crackling joints, which must mean that my body hasn't been in motion for a while. I must've been asleep. Or at least in whatever comes before existence.

I smile, the twitch of the muscle that tugs on my lips another familiar notion. Then I try out something else in my new body, to speak. The first attempt comes out as a garbled choking sound, my throat numb from lack of use. The next try I am louder and hope that the words form that I am thinking of in my head but instead just come out as a yell. I frown, and notice that is harder to do than smile. That must mean that I am meant to smile more than I frown. I wonder why up is smile and hapiness and down is frown, sadness. Why not let it be the other way around? I start to think of the answer, because if down where happy, then our lips would get very tired from frowning all the time, and I think that says something about the person who decided which way would be joy and which would be distress. I infer that they must want us to be happy.

"That's nice." I open my eyes wide. Where did that sound come from? Before I even finish the thought I realize that it was me. My first words. "In fact, those are some very nice first words," My thoughts became sounds again! That time I didn't even need to try. I smile at my sucess, and try out a few other words, random ones that I assume are names of objects.

"Tree."

"Soap."

"Boat."

"Bethany." I remember where I learned that one, it was inked onto my wrist. Not an object, a name. I think back to my earlier thoughts and am pleasantly surprised that was the first time a used my memory, a practical, useful tool, really. My thoughts earlier tell me that I guessed that is was my name, since it was written on my skin, of course. "Bethany." I try the name out again, and again. So many times that it becomes foreign and for a second I forget the meaning. Odd, saying something more seems like it should make the word more familiar, not less. It's nice to have a name, the feeling of owning something is good, though to own a name that is not a phsysical object is a different type of ownership, though it is quite nice to be able to identify myself. 

Bethany stands up and looks around the room. I laugh lightly, glad for once that something like laughter is familiar. It was fun to speak like that about myself. Bethany feels the cold feeling of the smooth white tiles beneath her small, pink toes. Bethany makes the mistake of looking up at the light again. Bethany walks around the room, leaving a hand trailing over the landscape of furniture that leaves dark shadows, the only bit of color besides myself, oops, I mean herself, in the room.

All of these thoughts of point of view are making me dizzy. I glance over and see a flash of movement that startles me. The feeling of being startled, my first twinge of fear is not a good feeling, I dislike it. I turn and a soothing calm spreads over me, it was just a mirror. Observing my first reflection, I find that the feeling of disappointment leaves just as much as a sad residue of aching as fear had. I'd hoped to meet my first other person.