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Sterilized

Author's note: I am fourteen and an aspiring novelist just looking to get published. I was inspired to write...  Show full author's note »
Author's note:

I am fourteen and an aspiring novelist just looking to get published. I was inspired to write this piece because I think that a lot of kids my age feel trapped and weary. We are so downed in our teenage angst and social anxiety that we sometimes feel as we have our chains that our tying us down. It so hard to be acknowledge when you are young that is why I admire Teen Ink for giving teens a voice in the world of literature.

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Sterilized

But for a quick flash that flickered through the window, a thunderous quake that sounded through the clouds, stomped at the ceiling, and pitter pattered at my walls, the world was silent.
For a second or maybe two, the skies were pale and blue again and lightning rhodes flew all over the night. I wished for time to freeze over when the thunder struck so that I could see it for more than seconds at a time. I stayed glued at the edge of my window afraid to look away and miss something. The window was barbed with wire, just in case I decided that I wanted to plummet to my death and drop thirty three stories down. The chain rattled as I rose from my bed. My clothes were burned during decontamination along with other things. All I had to wear were the hospital rags they gave us. That were always drafty and flimsy on my body. They could barely even cover my whole backside, but I ignored it, waiting. The lightning struck a few times more before the rain transformed into a drizzle, the sputtering and splattering ceasing before my ears and into a silenced hum of storm. It was over now. Too soon in my opinion. The weather was boring now as was life. Still the heavy traffic continued. The word rejoiced and went on, while I sat patiently at the edge. Waiting, though I had yet to discover what it was that I was waiting so patiently for. An exit, maybe. A life, definitely. But every time the lightning struck I made an inference and scribbled it in the inside of my hand so that when I woke up the next time I would remember. When the lightning struck the sky was tinted purple. When it struck I saw two lightning rhodes, then three, than four. When it struck the clouds puddled together, cumulus maybe? When it struck I heard thunder crashing on the roof of the brownstone next door. It was the prettiest, most destructive song. When it struck my heart beat to an irregular sound, the monitor at my bedside bounced a little too high and beeped at a peculiar pattern. The nurse would be in soon to inject me. It usually took about five minutes until one came to my room. I would not hide this time. I was smarter than that now. I simply curled inside my covers trying to calm my chest, listening only to the bustle of wind and the brist motion of birds soaring like planes. Trying to remember it, trying to implant it into my brain. Permanently, this time. I clutched my palm, suffocating the words I had written inside. I glanced down to see if they were any visible proof of what I had done peeking out from my skin, knowing that they would not hesitate to put me back in decontamination again if they saw what I had been doing with my hands. Cars barking outside, heels clicking beside my room or beyond my room, I couldn't tell anymore. I tried to keep calm looking to the lamp that stood unlit and the shag rug mom had sent to me and to the boy sat still in the bed next to me. He always sat still now, never ticked his head back or silently spazzed his finger like he had done before. He was not completely dead so I wondered what had changed in his mind. Maybe he was sad now, in the in-between where he lived. I wanted to call him something other “The Boy”, but his tag was to far out of the reach of my chain. There was so much I did not know about the boy. I wondered so many things about his life and somewhere around the way I started to make things up. He was my age, 15 and he liked to play soccer. He had a mom, but not a dad and he had a girlfriend back home and two cats and one dog name spaghetti. I wondered what color his eyes were though. I had made a bet with myself a long time ago that they were beautiful like the rest of him. Probably dark brown like his hair or blue, like an ocean for his eyes. I wonder if he could tell how much time I spent looking at him everyday. Maybe, he could tell me. The nurse had arrived. I heard the rackle of her medicine cart then the click of her nurse sneakers and she was there, before my room with a creepy smile she probably gave to a hundred patients before her, before she injected them. She offered up another forced smile before she took the needle out of her nurse pocket, squirted out the sirum residue, and drugged me, put her palm to my lips to stop the screaming and tightened the chains on my wrist to stop my resistance, but I was not resisting the serum because I was smart now. I simply let go of my clenched fist and let my hands fall. It was only a pinch in the crease of my arm and I would forget soon. In one… two… three.

I woke up drowsky, a headache poncing at my temple. I had forgotten something. Something in my mind that had been slated clean, I could feel it. The empty puddle where thoughts once pervaded me. My own private thoughts. I glanced down at my palms. They were empty and they were soft and smelled of the clorox wipe that had been used to sterilize the doorknobs to the hallway. She tried to walk up to the sill, but another chain had been added to her wrist. It was shortened so she could not walk anywhere except her bathroom. Drapes had been added to the window, black drapes.
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