Life After Death

Chapter 1

I hear the telltale click-clack clacking of sharp stilettos against marble floor long before the door to my cell opens.

Dr. Natasha Goodwell steps over the threshold in her long porcelain lab coat, escorted by a guard. She sweeps her eyes over my cell, taking in the furniture that includes nothing more than a table, two chairs, and a bunk which I'm currently inhabiting. Her eyes fall on me and she pastes that obnoxious smile people put on when they want to be polite. 

"Good morning Ana," she says, welcoming herself to one of the chairs by the table. She's wearing a long pthalo blue pencil skirt and a canary yellow blouse so bright, I have to squint when I look at her. She seems so out of place here in this white barren room, it for some reason infuriates me. Has she done this on purpose? As if I needed another reminder that I'm imprisoned here. 

She puts down her briefcase and pulls out a thick notepad and begins taking notes, presumably about my appearance. I watch her in silence. Her manicured nails tap against the table as she flips a page and I can hear the subtle sound of her breath as she inhales and exhales. Apart from that, there is no sound here. That's how they like it. It's meant for me to have "peace and quiet" to think about the events that led me here. 

She sweeps a lock of her long golden hair behind her ear and looks up at me with piercing blue eyes. 

"How have you been?" she says, glancing me over, taking in my knotted hair and aubergine dark circles under my eyes. 

How am I doing? Perfectly fine. Just swell. Frolicking in the meadows and drinking up the sunshine. I sigh and give her a curt, "I'm fine." 

She looks at me for a while and then moves on, "Last session we met and went over the course of treatment you will be receiving for the next year. Today I would like to start by going over your childhood. Now, I know there is a lot to unpack with that, so we will be discussing this for the next couple months." She paused as if waiting for a reaction, of which I gave none. 

Seeing my lack of resistance, she continues hesitantly, "I suggest we start with the earliest memory that you have and work up until your eighteenth birthday. Do you remember your first memories?" 

I look out the window and look at the bright morning sky. Not a cloud in sight. The grass is basking in the sun, soaking up sunlight to grow and thrive. I see birds outside going from flower to follower, gulping down nectar and in turn pollinating the flowers. All around me life is continuing on and I'm here stuck in time. The picture outside juxtaposes humorously with the memories conjuring up in my mind. 

The room darkness and I'm transported to another time, to another younger version of myself, and I begin speaking.

"It was a picturesque summer day in southern Florida. The breeze helped cast off the scorching summer's heat and the birds were chirping joyfully in their tress. Everything was seemingly at peace. However, that was not the case in the trailer park off the highway, particularly in one dilapidated house on the bank of the murky canal. Inside, all hell was breaking loose.

My brother, Gabriel was screaming at my sister, Adriana, who was trying to use her seniority as to why she should have more time with the tv. My eldest brother Lorenzo was in his room as usual, blasting rap music at a deafening volume. My other sister, Victoria, was trying to act as a sort of referee between Gabriel and Adriana, but was losing hopelessly. 

Meanwhile, a small Ana was cowering in the corner of the room, staring in shock at the hostile situation before her. She felt alone, and terrified. My mother? She was locked away in her room, sleeping off a hangover she acquired last night. 

This was a common occurrence for our mother.  She would stumble in at the dead of night after leaving us alone all day to fend for ourselves, usually accompanied by some strange man. I was only about five at this time and I honestly can't remember anything prior to then. I always thought that perhaps this was my brain's way of protecting my mind, by repressing memories better left undiscovered.