I don’t remember.
I don’t remember how I got blood on my hands, or why I was standing outside a warehouse overlooking the ocean. I ran to the cold water and scrubbed until my hands were clean, but I still felt dirty. I scrubbed my hands until my skin was raw. I had a note telling me to ‘send a message.’
To whom, I asked but I don’t remember the answer. I was to make it unmissable. Had I already sent it? I don’t remember… I can’t place it.
Police cars swarming the streets.
Yelling.
Train station.
Floors of moss. A fog clung close to the floor and left whatever touched it cold and damp. It was miserable. I can see myself in the mirrored windows. Or at least I think it’s me. The face is blurry, and I can’t quite make it out. It can’t be, I don’t look like that. I’m — and I don’t look like that. It must be him. 187. I put my hand on the glass and it came away red. I screamed again. I sobbed, staring at the bloodied hands. Whom had I hurt. Oh, gods what was happening to me.
I stared at the number burned into my skin. 187. He had done this. I looked to the seat next to me where a knife lay. I grabbed it and pressed it to my skin. I was going to gouge that fucking number out of my skin and be rid of it. I was going to be free.
Dozens and Dozens of red lines painted my arms. The number remained unblemished. Blood, my blood dripped down onto the soft mossy floor. The knife was gone, and on the wall of the carriage were the words: ‘nice try.’
Burned.
Wreckage.
Run.
Run away.
I was lying in the mud. Rain pounding me in the face as if trying to bury me in the ground. I felt sore and heavy.
I felt watched. Hundreds of eyes watched me as I tried to crawl down the path, toward home.
My home was a long building, with four floors, and a huge basement. Outside by the door, I could see, Dr Andrews. His white coat was pristine, and his grey hair was pushed out of his brown eyes. He smiled as I approached.
“—, You have returned,” He smiled. Dr Andrews had a thick Russian accent. He’s like a father to me. He raised me after my mum and dad ser came to their illness. “You did well in sending our message, my boy.”
“Thank you Dr,” I replied as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“Now, you should go clean up; and prepare for dinner.”
I walked down the hall towards my room. I grabbed my clothing and took a quick shower, the hot water felt like needles on my cold skin. I wrapped bandages around the burning red lines and looked out the large window on my wall to the outside of the hall.
I could see her sitting alone in the centre of her room with her back turned to me. She was slowly eating her dinner. It didn’t look very appealing. I left my room and walked up to the glass and knocked. She looked back at me. I could see her rotting teeth and black gums through chunks of missing skin. She smiled and her jaw went slack. She groaned and pushed it back into place.
She stumbled to her feet, fell, and got up again, walking towards me. Her brown skin was discoloured and blotchy. Her eyes glowed bright green. There were places I could see her bones and organs working while; some dissolved as well. I’d watched as her joints fell off and watched as she’d put them back in place.
She was dying… Decaying and repairing herself over and over again. The cycle gets faster and faster each time. When one cell would die, another would take its place like normal. But here it was warped. In a matter of hours, she’d be new again, and it would start again.
“—!” she said. Her voice was awful. It was strained and hoarse almost like radio static. All I could do was smile. “I missed you, where did you go?”
I shrugged. “Can’t remember,” I admitted.
“I bet it was so much fun.”
I shrugged. “I sent a message.”
“To whom?”
“I… don’t know.”
A siren rang out through the halls. Dinner time. “I’ve got to go…” I told her.
“I know… I’ll be here when you come back… I hope,” she sounded sad. I gave her a smile and rushed off to the mess hall.
The mess hall was rather large, and there were hundreds of people sitting there eating their dinners. I could see outside through the windows. It was dark and rain was still hammering the rooftop. I walked up to get my food, and towards the back of the room, to an empty table.
The food was bland and had no taste. It was slimy and dense, hitting my stomach like a bowling ball. I sighed, at least the food was hot. I looked around the mess hall and wondered where they were.
Finally, I saw them. Their hair was cut short, close to their head. They had warm light brown skin and white eyes. I waved and they come over to sit with me. Raine was my only friend left. They’d joined home after their family died in a car accident. They were around my age, seventeen and had only come here a few months ago.
“Hi Raine,” I smiled as they put their tray down.
“Hey —,” They replied. Rained raised their hand to there should before slamming it down onto the table. I jumped a bit and placed my hand over there.
“It’s okay Raine, you’ll get used to it here,” I assured them.
“Like you and Veronica did? Am I going to be stuck behind glass!” Raine retorted. I tensed and they seemed to soften. “Sorry… I’m sure Veronica will be out soon.”
I smiled, knowing she wouldn’t be. She’d become unstable and go off to where the others are. But I didn’t want to scare Raine, we has just started his treatment.
“Think fast!” Someone behind us yelled as something hit the back of my head.
“TEMPEST!” Raine yelled. I tried to pull them back into their seat. I could hear thunder rumbling and decided a storm wasn’t something I would have liked to happen.
“Leave it,” I pleaded. “I’m used to it by now.”
Raine didn’t protest after that. “You shouldn’t have to be though; the Doctors electrocute you and call it ‘treatment’.”
“That hasn’t happened for a while, and besides I’m sick you know that.”
“They’re poisoning you —!”
I was about to respond when a hand was placed on my shoulder.
“We are doing no such thing, Mr Martin we are helping — with his Ailments,” Dr Andrews smiled
“Which is,” Raine sounded angry.
“Confidential.”
Raine stared at Dr Andrews before another Doctor placed their hands on Raine’s shoulder. “Come Along 288 times for treatment.”
I know Raine wanted to protest but they just went along with Dr Lee smiling taking them away.
“You as well my boy,” Dr Andrews smiled. I felt a tinge of hatred looking at him. He was average. His face was perfect. Not a blemish. I hated him. I wanted to kill him. I pushed down the feeling. “You are sick, my boy. Come along.”
I smiled and followed him down the hall. We stopped outside a large door where; I could see a chair in the centre of the room. It was a large leather chair, that was far too big for me. I took my seat on the chair, letting my feet dangle over the footrest I couldn’t reach. One of the nurses unwrapped my arms and scowled at me.
I let them put the I.V in my arms and make way for the head of the home. He was a stern old man. I think he hated me. He would always find some way to punish me, saying I was of the devil.
“187,” He said. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked grabbing my arm. The head had a bulbous nose that was red and pudgy. His head was bold, and you could see his pores. He was a short squat old man. His hands were ruff and itchy. I could hear static on the loudspeakers and my head felt like it was splitting.
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Remember!” It said sticking out my tongue. Oh god, I felt like shit. The head slapped me. The nurses tried their best to strap me down as I thrashed around. I wasn’t in control.
The medicine flowed into my veins, and it burned. It itched and I bit my tongue. 187 laughed in morbid delight. It hurts. It hurts so bad. I can feel it. My vision started flashing, like strobe lights and I didn’t know why.
“Show time.”
I don’t remember.
They were dead. Their blood was everywhere. I could see their entrails all over the floor. Their throats had been torn out of their throats. The door burst open and they restrained me. My hands were covered in blood as Dr Andrews walked into the room. He looked sad. He always looked sad.
“Your sickness is worse than I feared my boy,” He looked at the guards. “You know what to do.”
Alone.
I was Alone. It was a small room; it had a bed and slanted windows. There was a cross on the wall and a bible on the night table. There was a toilet and a mirror, with a sink. The isolation room. I’ve spent a lot of time here. I sat on the bed; closed my eyes and cried.
I felt warm tears run down my face. I was becoming deathly ill now. I was so, so sick. Was the treatment not working anymore? I coughed, and blood was on my hands again. I cried and washed it off in the sink.
I didn’t want to be sick anymore. I just wanted to get better.
Dr Andrews wasn’t going to give up on me. He cared for me. He was like a father to me. I was his ‘boy’.
My real Mum and Dad were sick just like me. They tried to help them and now they’re helping me. I don’t remember them much. I don’t have any photos of them. I remember somewhere before the home. A warm place. Near the sea. We moved when they got sick. The home promised them a cure. They died, but I got sick too, so now they’re helping me.
The doctors would never do anything to hurt me. They just want to help.
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