It’s all a blur.

A blur of lights blinding me as I fly down the long hallway, feet-first like I’m a kid again, shooting off the end of a slide. Is anyone going to catch me? The bed I’m lying on jerks to a stop, and I look for my mother in the blur of bodies that surround me like a white canvas. Even their expressions are stretched thin. A bit of teal seeps into view. Leans over me and flashes a light in my eyes. It burns all the way through my skull. HEY, THAT HURTS! I tell the bit of teal and she stops, but a blotch of blue hovers in the background. Breaking the line of horizon.

Sketch, make him go away.

I can’t focus.

I slip into the darkness.

Sounds blur too. I discover this as I float to the surface.

Beeping and humming, the sounds of machines. Whispers and footsteps, the sounds of people. Head laceration approximately four inches long. Pupils dilated and uneven. Page neurology and psych for consult.

The words and noises blur into a song I don’t recognize or like. The tempo is too quick. I can’t dance to this, I tell Ian, but he isn’t here.

“What happened?” The blotch in blue barges into the foreground. He leans over me, so close I can tell he ate onions recently.

“Sir, you need to wait outside,” a voice from the canvas of white tells him.

“I don’t think you understand. I need to ask that kid a few questions.” Onion Breath fumes at White Canvas.

“I don’t think you understand. Right now that kid is my patient and my only concern is what he needs.”

Stop calling me THAT KID! I try to sit up and shout at them.

“Two MG Versed STAT!” Something stabs me in the arm. A bitter taste floods my mouth. The ceiling swirls, and I forget what I was going to say. A flash of light burns my eyes. A voice bangs in my head. It’s White Canvas.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Oh yeah, that’s what I was going to tell them. “Jonathan. My name is Jonathan.” My voice sounds weird, like I’m talking with a mouthful of marbles. I try again, but the weight is back, pulling me under.

“That’s great, Jonathan. Do you know what day it is?”

“Friday,” I mumble.

White Canvas chuckles.

“Right. How about the date? Do you know that?”

“October…something. Homecoming, I think.”

“Good.”

I can tell he’s got more questions, but Onion Breath pushes past him and leans over me.

“Who did this to you, kid?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

His eyes narrow. “What kind of a game are you trying to play?” His face hovers inches above mine. I close my eyes and try to concentrate.

I’d answer him. Really I would. Except it’s all a blur.

 

Published by Bold Strokes Books

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