Young Writers Society

“Oh, wait a second,” someone says, pausing, “he's waking up!”

 I feel momentarily stunned to hear human voices. I lift my eyelids to see several people standing around me. They're all in white and baby blue. I blink from the severity of the white. I try to lift my head but it's stuck down... there's a tight strap around my forehead. I feel leather digging into my wrists, too.

“What's with this?” I try to ask, but what I hear sounds scratchy and higher pitched. It sounds like it would better suit a girl... not the scratchy part.

A lady bends down closer to me. Her lips are painted the colour of glossy soap berries, and I can only assume that her pale complexion is due to the thick application of more makeup.

“How do you feel?” She asks, nearly touching my nose with her narrow index finger.

“Confused,” I reply, wishing I could make her warm breath go away.

“That's alright- isn't it, Terry?” She looks up at the others, “Confusion is part of the recovery.” That's good to know. I'm not just confused 'cause I have no idea where I am or anything.

“Open your eyes wide, please,” says a man which I think could very potentially be Terry. He shines a light in my right eye, and then my left. It stings, and a tear escapes my lower eyelid, rolling down the side of my face.

“The left's a bit lazy,” Terry says to his companions.

“Maybe we should sedate him again?” The other guy says, reaching for something that's past my vision.

“As much as I want to keep him awake... I think you might be right.” Terry says. The lady nods, and the other guy hands Terry something. He brings it to my side, and I feel my arm go cool, and it starts to ache. “Count down from one hundred, please, Corbin.” I want to do as he says, but I only make it to three before my mind completely leaves me, and I'm over come by drowsiness.

* * *

Next thing I know, I'm waking again. I pull my arm and there's no restraints.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I feel my head for the others, but my hand only feels the smooth warm surface, otherwise known as my forehead. I push myself up so I'm sitting. All around me there's sleeping people, in hospital cots. All lined up like we're in the army, or, what it really reminds me of is how they present orphanages in movies.

I sit there for awhile, listening to the beat of monitors and other doctorly devises. I guess I'm suspecting someone to come in, and talk to me or something... tell me that they changed my meds again... but then, this isn't the right place, and I'm not sure anyone is coming anyway. So I slip off the bed, checking first to see what I'm wearing: it's thankfully not a hospital gown with the slit up the back, but instead I'm in a pair of hospital-blue slacks and a white wife-beater.

When my feet hit the cold floor, I remember something: I'm not suppose to be here, am I?

There's a thud across the room, and I whip around to see what it was. One of the bed's sheets are crumpled, and the blanket slowly slides off the mattress. I walk towards it. The monitor for that bed is beeping more frantically than the others. I can see around the other beds now, and there's someone on the ground by the bed, still attached to wire and tubes.

I rush over to them, gripping their clothe to turn them onto their back. Greasy white curls fall away from their face as I flip them, only it's not a them. It's a she. Her long lashes brush her cheeks, as I try to get a better grip to put her back into the cot. I manage to lift her half-way, but then I can't seem to lift that extra bit to heave her high enough. Then her eyelids open, and for a split second I get a good look at her eyes, which are the colour of glaciers. Then the second's over and the door flies open. A man stands there, staring at me. Oh, I know him... that's Terry. Suddenly I realize I'm in a rather compromising position. I'm holding one of the patients, gazing into her eyes...

Terry yells something back through the door, but I don't quite register what it is because I'm trying to figure out why my leg's hurting. The girl is kicking wildly and screaming now, so I let go of her, and she falls to the ground. Serves her right for pinching my leg, and deafening me.

* * *

The thing is, I honestly am confused. I don't know where I am, I thought that I was dead- the only explanation is that this is the after life. Or at least, that's the only thing I can think of, and I've had a lot of time to think. Believe me. I haven't seen the girl again. I'm in my own room now... I guess I'm a trouble maker... I don't really see anyone, actually. The only time I see other human beings is when the doctors come in to wheel me away to some other room where they place a mask over my mouth and nose, and I breathe in some drug that smells like an extremely potent form of stomach fluid.

Basically that's what I remember smelling at my death, so every time I smell the drug I start to panic. It's not that great the rest of the time either.

Like now, I'm strapped to a hospital bed... and I really want to see those doctors, anyone, really. The girl would be my ideal choice. I mean, I know that she injured me the last time I tried to be her hero, but she's a lot more desirable then the people who come to talk to me only to put me under. Plus I find other teenagers extremely fascinating...

But the doctors aren't going to come for awhile. They come when the bag of fluid dangling above my head empties. It's the closet thing to a clock in this room... and it's three quarters full. Maybe I should do the 'glass half full thing' and say that it's one quarter empty. However you say it, I still feel like I've lived three thousand years in the last quarter of the bag. Now consider how long it feels like I've been here in all. They've gone through twelve bags that I'm aware of. That means it feels like I've been here one hundred, and forty four thousand years... if I did the math correctly. Chances are, I did the math correctly. This is perfect conditions for math; strapped down, mind completely gone, no noise, and painfully bright lights. It's a fool proof plan.

I rub my thumb along the edge of the bed sheets. I wish I had the freedom of these blankets, just for a millisecond... hell knows it would be like a week to me.

Dripping, dripping, dripping. Will that bloody thing ever stop dripping? It's the second hand, my clock has a second hand. It also has a third hand- the monitor. It beeps irregularly like: Beep.... Beep....... Beep... Beep..... Beep................ Beep... Beep, Beep, Beep....... Beep...

It's scarier when the beeps are closer together, because that means that I'm more scared. There's lots to be scared about in a bright room, while you're strapped down, and you can't look over the side of the bed to check for critters. It's scary when the beeps echo through your ears, blocking out any other sounds that might warn you about danger. It's scary not being able to move your arms. It's scary waiting for the bag to empty, because you start to worry that they're not going to come back when the bag ends. That's the scariest part, worrying that they won't come back, that no one will ever come back. That's when I dread the bag ending. That's when the bag finishes faster. My clock's screwed up that way.

That's when they come back, and my fears are released... for a little while. But then the world goes black, and then I wake up again... and I'm back where I was before. Alone.

There's cameras here, in the corners of the ceiling... Should I say ceiling or room? I don't know... it's a corner... So I figured, them being the closest thing to a living thing in this room, besides the monitor, might as well talk to them...?

So I have my own talk show.

“You ever wonder why gumdrops are so gummy? We'll have the answer to that, and more, right after this break.” I say, turning away from the camera to pretend like I'm talking to the monitor. I wait ten or so beeps before the cameras turn back on... and we're live, in three, two... ONE.

“Hi there! I'm Kelly Whatsnadder, and we're talking about why gumdrops are gummy!” I clear my throat and glance over at the monitor, “Have you ever wondered that, Charlie?” There's a pause, and I nod, “That's me exactly. So excited about this!” Someone tilted the head of the bed up for me today, which is great 'cause I can actually see the cameras. “Alright, let's not keep you waiting any longer! So just after this break!” I fix my shirt, and smile plastically at the camera, and wait a few more beeps. “Welcome back! Charlie, I must say, that shirt looks great on you!” The Monitor beeps in response. “Are the girls ready for the fashion show, or what?” More beeps. “Huh, I thought I asked them to get ready... that's funny... Oh well!” I let my head drop to the pillow. “We're kind of doomed now... woman take forever getting changed,” Talk shows are tiring, as you might expect.

They tell me I'm special. “I know,” I say to Terry, patting his arm reassuringly, “I've been talking to Charlie every day... and you know what she says every day: You're crazy, Corb. Crazy, nuts, insane, wacko, special!” I smile at him, and nod, “I just can't believe a monitor would say that to me.”

He then proceeded to inform me that I was special because I'm three hundred and forty two years old. “You sure aren't good at judging a persons age, are you?” I laugh, “thanks for being tactful, I'm quite sensitive about my age, you know... I'm actually twenty one,” I pull the blankets closer up around me, and wiggle down so that my head is bellow the pillow, and my toes dangle off the end of the bed.

Terry shakes his head.

“You're body is as healthy and new as a twenty-one year old, but you've been around for three hundred and forty two years,” he has a clicky pen in his hand, and he uses it to emphasis what he's saying by clicking it. Sometimes he clicks it a couple times really quick for good measure.

“Hm, if that's true, Terry, then... that means I'm older then you...” I clear my throat, and raise my eyebrows, “and that's saying a lot.”

He sighs and pulls out his phone irritatedly, ignoring me. I hate it when people ignore me, and I don't hate many things. Terry presses a button on the cell and shoves it back into his pocket, looking back to me, he says “Jass is coming up to talk to you in about fifteen minutes, alright?” he opens the door to leave, then says “if only you had your brains, huh Corb?” I nod, and he shuts the door behind him.

Thirty minutes later Jass walks in, her hair flowing behind her like the streamers on a kite. How come doctors are always late?

“Hello dear!” She says, dragging a chair to the side of the bed. I smile in response. “Do you want to talk about what Terry and you talked about?” She asks. I shake my head.

“No. I don't want to talk about Charlie anymore...”

She lets out a short laugh, “right... it wasn't entirely about.... uh... Charlie...” then she struggles to find something else to say. I take that as a compliment... these people always know what they're saying, so it seems. It's like they have a script that they're not always happy to perform.

I just smile at her, willing her to continue.

“...Well, if you don't want to talk about it, there's some videos I'd like to show you,” she raises an ipad-like device, and presses a button with her spindly index finger. The screen blinks on, hurting my eyes with the sudden brightness. There's already a video open, and she presses play.

A boy around eighteen is sitting up in a hospital bed, staring at his hands while someone behind the camera speaks to him. His hair is like raven feathers, like charcoal. The blue-black reflecting even the dimmest of lights.

“Do you remember your family, Corbin?” They're saying... Okay, wow, he does look like me.... I guess it's me... I look terrible, putting it lightly.

I shake my head as a reply... still my eyes are trained on my hands- in the video. “What's wrong?” The voice continues. I don't answer. “Are you sad about something?” They persist, “Are you sad about your sisters?” The only reply is the tears that silently start rolling down my face.

I look up at Jass, who is watching my every move. “...I don't understand.” I say.

“Keep watching,” She says.

I look back to the screen, and I'm looking up now, off into the corner where the voice seems to be coming from. “Why aren't they here?” I ask, my voice catching.

“You're sisters?” The voice asks, “They're not here because you haven't saved them yet, you have to save them, Corbin.” This seems to bother me, because I start sobbing, running my hands up the sides of my face until my fingers are tangled in my raven hair.

“I can't!” My voice rising desperately, “I've tried so hard.”

“We'll help you,” The voice is saying, “we're here to help, Corbin.” That shut me up. Letting my arms droop back to my side, my eyes are suddenly so clear, the tears reflecting the light from the ceiling lights. Perked up with a flicker of hope.

“You will,” I breathe.

The screen switches off, but I'm stuck thinking about what I said. I'm not sure if I was thankful that they were going to help, or if that was a threat. Finally I look to Jass.

“I don't remember that.” I say.

Resting the tablet on her leg she says, “You wouldn't. It's too much to deal with.”

“But this isn't too much to deal with?” I shift to a position where I can look at her better.

“Dear, listen; this is going to be a lot to take in... but you really have to just hear us out... and stop pretending that equipment is alive.”

That feels somehow like a direct assault, though I don't know how exactly yet. “...I'm going to pretend you didn't just blame my insanity on me,” I say.

“You're not insane.”

I bitter laugh escapes me, “How are you even a doctor!”

“Corbin,” She says, stiffly, “I would prefer to tell you what I must, and be down with it.”

“Ah, so that's my new nickname then? 'It'?”

“Aren't you a little curious about anything?” Answering a question with a question. Doctors seem to do that a lot. “Will you give me two minutes?”

I look away, and eventually nod.

“That guy in the video isn't you, Corbin... you're his clone,” she says.

“Oh that's lovely. What else have you been keeping from me, mom?” I mock.

“Shut up. I'm not done.” She says.

“Wow, you have a hot temper,” I say.

She glares at me, before continuing on, “You were created to help Corbin, the guy who you were cloned from, to save his family.”

“To save his family. You're telling me, that a bunch of scientists got together and cloned some guy, so that the clone could save his family...?” I laugh, “What's so special about that guy?” I wave a hand in the general direction of the tablet, “why would you care enough to help him? Does he have money? Is he paying you?”

“No. He's not paying us. We're government funded.” She says.

“Oh, and the government has started paying for you to clone people so that they can help random people!”

“Yes. They're paying us to clone people, so that the clones can help people.”

“That doesn't even make sense.” I say.

“Then shut up and let me finish.” She says. I obey. “We're cloning people, then altering the clones so that they're... better.”

“I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

She lets out an annoyed sigh, “You're altered to have a higher pain threshold, more empathy then most humans, and some other things.”

“Huh... Some other things...? Can I fly?”

“No!” She gets up from the chair angrily.

“Hey! You can't just tell someone they're a super human and then leave!”

“Too bad. I said be quiet, and you didn't listen.” She stomps out of the room, her high-heals clicking dramatically as she does so.

Honestly, this was probably a hallucination.