Breathe

Just a short story that I started when feeling ridiculously angsty today. Please leave any feedback and don't steal? Thank you :)

Breathe

 

The word, although only said in a whisper, echoed around my head, bouncing of each wall in that empty, metaphorical room. I could feel a bright light shining into my eyes, causing the back of my eyelids to glow a strange orange-red, yet, I couldn’t open my eyes. It was like they were glued shut. I heard the whisper again.

 

Come on...breathe d****t. Breathe!

 

I tried to concentrate on what the voice told me to do. I filled my lungs slowly with air, ignoring the pain that went with this strange sensation. As I exhaled, I felt the glue holding my eyes shut loosen slightly. I continued on to take a few deep breaths, feeling my eyes get closer to opening every time. The voice in the room obviously noticed; I heard them let out a small, yet somewhat manic laugh.

 

Good...now wake up!

 

With that command, my eyes flew open, and I sat bolt upright. The bright light bounced off the pristine white walls, and another was positioned directly over my head. My eyes scanned the room, trying their best to adjust to the new surroundings. The room was empty. There were six or seven other beds around me, made of what looked like a flimsy metal, and a paper-thin mattress. All of them were empty. By each bed was a large machine that stretched from the floor, almost to the ceiling. I looked at the one beside my bed, noticing that wires connected it to me. It beeped and whirred, showing a little chart that I couldn’t understand.

 

It was then that I realised. The room was empty. Who had been talking to me? I knew it was a voice I recognised, someone I had once been close to. But I just couldn’t put my finger on whom, and that panicked me. Was I just imagining the voice? Where was I? And why was I here? My breathing quickened, causing the machines that I was hooked to to angrily whir and beep at me. I heard voices from the next room.

 

He’s awake!

 

I assumed that the ‘he’ was in fact me, as about nine nurses all came running into the room, followed by a doctor. They all began to talk at once, asking me questions, checking the machines and their notes on little grey clipboards. I just lay there, being poked and prodded, staring at the patterned roof above me.

 

Mr Johnson? Can you hear me?

 

By this point, the doctor had moved to stand beside me, holding his clipboard and looking at me intently. I guess he needed answers. I just nodded.

 

Ah good, I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling Mr Johnson?

 

I shrugged. I didn’t really know how I felt. There was a lot of pain that I was only just beginning to notice; mostly in my head and chest. I was confused, and scared, not that I was ever going to admit that.

 

Mr Johnson do you think you could talk to me?

 

Yeah.

 

My own voice made me jump. It was like when you wake up in the morning, and talk for the first time, only to notice that your voice is still tainted with sleep. It was like that, but as if I’d been asleep for weeks. And maybe I had.

 

Thank you Mr Johnson. Now I’d like you to tell me as much as you can remember from your...incident.

 

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My incident? What incident? Was that what caused me to be in here? Was I injured? I just thought I had a bit of a headache and a tight chest. My hand instinctively moved to my chest, fingers brushing across stitches that held together a long cut.

 

Ouch…

 

Yes I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. Do you remember any of what happened?

 

I shook my head.

 

Ah okay... well I’m going to leave you for a while, just so you can calm yourself down alright? If you need anything just press the alarm switch.

 

And with that, the room was empty again. Just me, my thoughts, and that strange voice in my head.

 

Good job, pretending you don’t remember me. Why didn’t I think of that?

 

Who was that? I frowned, causing the pain in my forehead to increase. I gently brushed my fingertips over where the pain centred, feeling more stitches. What happened to me?

 

You’re being over dramatic; it’s just a few stitches. Stop pretending you don’t know me you pathetic little boy. Pretending won’t change anything!

 

I forced my brain to focus on the voice, flicking through my memories like the pages of a worn down, distant book. With every person I tried to match the voice to, the voice got louder, laughing and jeering at me. My brain strained, thinking back to the darkest depths of my most repressed memories. That’s when it hit me.

 

Emily.