Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Sterile treatment

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
I opened my eyes and there I was, lying still. Serene in body, overwrought in mind. Breathe. That is it, remember to breathe. How did I get here? I tried to sit up to find my muscles acting on their own accord and a cloud of dizziness attacking me on rising. I felt a sharp pain, when I changed my breathing I located it to my rib. Lower right rib. I was no doctor, I had just happened to spend a lot of times watching programs like ‘Scrubs.’ Then the thought struck me, this is not TV, there are no back ups, no film crews and for sure no second chances. I felt a damp patch embedded in my cheek and with great effort I managed to lift my arm to feel it. My hand was then visible. Red, tears are not red. Red is the color of blood and mine was emerging at an unimaginable pace.

As my eyes focused like a camera I become aware that the white blur in front of me was in fact the ceiling of a room. Upon further investigation, or as much as my semi-paralysed body would allow, I discovered that this room was all white. A blank canvas. Alas it was not the kind that a painter would enjoy for I was not there of my own accord. This was a room fit for the mentally insane of which I had to assume I was now one. I felt claustrophobic; I am the kind of person that would suppress a virus in order to avoid the inevitable trip to the doctors so waking up alone in a sterile room left me feeling un easy.



The room was a single room. One bed, one sink, a desk but no mirrors or windows . It appeared that no representation of reality that was unfiltered had ever entered past the white repainted door. I rolled onto my side and found that the wall next to me had dents. Dents made by people presumably trying to escape and craving attention. This made me wonder if perhaps I should be attracting such attention. Was I being naïve to believe that whoever was controlling my life had my welfare in mind?

I rested my unaffected cheek against the cold, dented wall. I heard voices on the other side. After assuring myself I was not schizophrenic, I decided that my investigation would commence from the dystopia I had woken up to. They spoke about the mind, about some patients and I soon discovered that I was next to the staff room. I would need to contact a lawyer or family member but this bare room seemed to not have a single possession of mine.

Head back on the pillow that had been chemically cleaned I knew if I didn’t get out myself no one would do it for me. I thought I was feeling better and I was there overnight and for nothing serious. That is when I heard the three knocks, the man in a white coat walk in and as my eyes were closing I knew it would be for the last time.




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback