Mad Ember

4: Strangers

The songs I add before a chapter hint to the feelings and messages that will rise within it. It gives my characters a real voice. It brings them to life. All songs will be provided! :) And the playlist is on spotify!

Do you guys prefer indented paragraphs or no indent?

S O N G F O R C H A P T E R : "Fire"
B Y : Barns Courtney

The bed is soft, even behind my closed eyelids, I can tell that the room is warm and bright. The only sound filling the air is beeping, steady, and rhythmic. It smells sterile. Too sterile. Almost to the point where it burns my nostrils. My hands are cold, and I fist them in the sheets for some warmth.

I'm not sure where I am. I attempt to remember the events prior that led me to this but come up blank. I shift, the sheet feels scratchy against my skin. I squeeze my hands into fists. Harder, harder, harder. My nails dig into the surface of my palm, and I clench them harder, holding my breath. It's a nasty habit, I'm not even sure exactly when it started. My best guess is after my mom died. It's a way for me to grip myself to reality. The pain is real, this is real, I'm okay.

My eyelids stay closed, but if I want to, I could wake up very quickly from whatever sleep I'm in. I don't want to. I'm terrified.

I squeeze my hands once again, making a fist. Something's off. I feel different now. I can't explain it. Just... different, and it's bugging me not being able to know precisely what is going on. I hear someone move in the room, and it stirs me, forcing me to awake more.

The room suddenly goes dark, and I'm grateful. I flutter my eyes open, and right away, I'm met with an empty room. I may have been away from civilization for ten years, but I know a hospital room when I see one. This one is small. The bed I rest on has monitors and wires attached that lead to my arm. The sheets are a crisp white. A light grey chair rests next to me with a worn brown leather jacket resting on top of it.

Tired of looking around the dull room, I take in my condition. I wouldn't have survived without help, but who hurt me? And who helped? I can't see my feet because they rest under the blanket, but my bicep has a tight bandage wrapped around it with a small area soaking through with blood. I shift to look at my abdomen. I wince from the pain but continue to lift the sheets to see the damage wincing ounce more. A feminine voice fills the room, and my head snaps to the source.

"It's going to hurt if you move too much." A petite girl says softly looking at me intently. I stay silent, my eyes never leaving her light grey ones. How the hell am I going to get out of this one? She doesn't attempt to move closer to me but doesn't make an attempt to leave either. She gestures to the chair. "May I sit?" She asks. I don't say or do anything.

"I bet you're thirsty." I wanted to scream at how right she was, and I wanted to tell her to bring me food too but I restrain myself. She walks over to a sink filling a cup and walks over to me with a large glass of water. I'm almost skeptical about drinking it, given how clear it is. Must be purified. It's been a while since I've had that. I look down at the glass. What would it be like to have clean water at your fingertips every day? I skeptically take a sip testing the taste. Nothing. I finish the rest, and my throat feels much better.

"My name's Reagan." She says with a soft smile as she pours me more water, for which I'm grateful. "I don't know if you remember, but I was there when we found you."

"I'm sure you have tons of ques-."

"When can I leave?" my voice is hoarse and sounds nothing like how I usually do. I take another sip of water and clear my throat, ignoring the fact that I cut Reagan off. Right now, leaving is the only thing on my mind. Once I'm out of this, I can pretend it never happened and live happily ever after in my own home. Reagan shifts in the seat. Obviously, the subject is making her uncomfortable, which only makes me more anxious. I repeat myself, "When can I leave?" My voice is firm this time.