Light. White.

White everywhere, on the floor, on the ceiling, on the bed, on the blurred, moving object to the right.

The object gasped. “Team, stand by,” it spoke into the wall.

Vision sharpening. The object was a room attendant; the figures rushing in were doctors and nurses.

“Heart rate steady.”


I tried to sit up, but a wide hand pushed back on my chest. “Stay down.”

It was a reenactment of however long ago it was; hands checking every part of my body, doctors roiling in and around each other like angry fish. And suddenly, it stopped.

“Everything appears to be all right, Dr. Harding, but I would keep him here for a few more days.”

“What in God’s name are we going to do with the boy?” I heard the doctor mutter.

The attendant shrugged and left the room, leaving the small space full of conflicting opinions. I flicked my eyes around worriedly. The men and women in white coats stared.

I decided to ask it. “What’s happening?”

View this story's 4 comments.