Young Writers Society

The sheets twisted in my hands, cold and thin. I blinked but couldn’t tell the difference between the darkness of the room and the space under my eyelids. Air; still, empty air; it pressed against me, the only presence in the room. It suffocated me, for I was invisible to it; and yet, millions of silver bodies pressed to the walls, glinting white showing where they gazed at me. Something was watching me, but I couldn’t see it.

The wool blanket could not have been wrapped tighter around me. It was pulled over my head, my eyelashes locked together as I tried to shut out the groping fingers in my mind. Of course, I knew they had never been there. My mind plays tricks on me.

Sometimes I think the creatures in the dark are human.

It’s just my mind.

Right?

“She’s waking up,” I heard a tooth-paste commercial voice say. I stayed frozen where I was. Speaking of which…where was I?

“Hello, Miss…” papers being turned, “Eva Vorkink? You have been asleep for…”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was too concentrated on that name, ‘Eva Vorkink’. What poor child was named Vorkink? …What was my name? I clenched my hands, unconsciously digging my nails into my palms as I tried to remember. Please don’t tell me that’s my name, I prayed.

The woman had stopped talking. My eyes flew open, frantic in my fear. Light, everywhere; cutting into my mind, searing my eyes, forcing tears. My eyes snapped closed.

I heard heels, loud and ominous, cross the room. I slowly forced my eyelids to move. The intruder of my silence came into my field of vision, two black spikes with ten toes peeking out of the fronts.

“Good evening, Miss Vorkink.” Her dress was silver.

“Ffffkkkkooo,” I said, and frowned. My throat was not behaving.

She laughed in what she must have thought was a seductive giggle. I thought she sounded like a high chipmunk.

“Do you know what your name is?” she asked, bending down to my level like I was a little kid.

“Eva,” I managed, before exploding with mucus-filled coughs right in her face. She stood up and wiped her face on the clipboard she was holding.

“Eva, how many days have you been here?” her polite voice was sharp with anger.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position. It hurt. I was vulnerable enough already, though. I could stand the pain.

“I’ve been asleep,” I said dryly. If I had really been “asleep”, as she said (and not drugged or something), then how would I know how long I’d been out?

She ignored me. “You have been in this room for exactly five days, during which you underwent major medical procedures.” She pursed her lips and shifted her weight to the other hip.

I glanced around. I wasn’t in a hospital of any kind. In fact, I was sitting on a bare hardwood floor with a pile of sheets and blankets. The walls were wood as well, but covered in pink daisy wallpaper.

“Where am I really?” I asked.

The woman smiled (if you could call it that; she seemed about to bite my head off), and said, “The Correctional Facility for the Mentally Endangered.” She and her high heels stalked away, slamming the one metal door behind her.

I tried to stand up, supporting myself with the cupcake-colored wall. A mental facility, huh? Endangered?

I smashed my fist against the door.

“You don’t know anything about me!” I screamed at no one. I don’t know why I said it. Someone inside me possessed my mouth; maybe it was the old me, the one who already knew my own name. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I don’t…I don’t…I—

I woke, again, in the middle of that wood floor. I sat up, fighting the dizziness, rubbing my head and moaning. There was a small Band-Aid on my left arm. I lifted it up, and found a tiny pinprick. So, I had been drugged.

I was able to stand up without help from the wall this time. I walked in circles around the room, trying to gain some feeling in my feet.

Yep, that's it for now ;) I think I should probably rewrite the whole second section...