Flytrap | WATTYS 2022 SHORTLIST

27 | Compost

A wave of intense hunger rolled over her body, waking her instantly. Doubling over in pain, Barbara clutched her stomach and groaned. As she waited for her hunger to subside, she looked around the unfamiliar surroundings, finally noticing where she was.

The bedroom—which was way too sleek to be hers—was nearly all black save for the white walls painted behind her. The bed itself was a four-poster one, framed by a solid wood canopy and elegant white curtains. Brushing her hand against the sheets, she glanced down and realized these sheets were definitely not hers. Her sheets were nowhere near as soft or high-quality.

She was in a stranger's room. In a stranger's bed.

But whose was the question?

Sitting up straight, Barbara tried to recall her last memory before the world went black. The wedding that hadn't happened. The courthouse collapsed to a pile of rubble. Wayne Manor—

Wayne Manor.

Shit, that's where she was. That's where Richard had taken her and Pamela. Pamela was dead, burned to death by the sun. Richard and Bruce had...

What had they done? She couldn't remember. No matter how hard she tried to reach into the deepest part of her brain, she kept coming up empty.

Oh, God. What had they done to her? Panicking, Barbara looked down at her body and saw she was still wearing her gown from the wedding. Though it was nearly unrecognizable at this point with all its bloodstains and torn edges, it was still the same dress.

She couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. So they were monsters, but not those types of monsters. Lucky her.

Barbara groaned into her hand. This hunger was becoming unbearable. When was the last time she had eaten? This morning? Well, no wonder she was starving.

Moving to the side of the bed, Barbara scanned the neat, spacious room for her wheelchair, but it was nowhere in sight. Figures. Of course, they'd leave her in bed, helpless and immobile.

Damn it. Why couldn't she remember what happened?

Running her hand over her face again, Barbara closed her eyes and searched for the smallest hint that could tell her what had happened before her blackout.

Speaking of which, practically everything in this room was black. From the black switched-off lamp beside her to the curtains drawn over the French windows, there was not a single drop of light pouring in. And yet, she could see perfectly.

Hold on. The last time she had 20/20 vision was back in high school, and that was over six years ago. Something wasn't right here.

Her hand lingered over her face, confirming her growing fear.

She was not wearing her glasses.

Barbara ripped her hand away as if she had been scalded. Just what was going on here?

Screw it. She'd crawl if she'd have to. But there was no way she was going to just lie here, waiting for someone to show up. She had to get the hell out of this place.

Dragging herself off the bed, she tumbled to the floor, fully expecting her head to bang against the tile. But that was not what happened. Not at all.

As if acting on reflex, her feet hit the floor first, preventing her from falling as she gripped onto the bedspread.

What the—

She glanced down, unable to believe what she was seeing. Her feet were planted squarely over the tile, her legs bent at the knee as they held her shaking, unsteady body upright.