Fiction

   Life slides back into my body with a shaky breath. I wait for the ringing in my ears to subside before I push myself up with aching limbs. My clothes are in tatters, and I’m baffled why and how I got here.

Sarah woke up again, dreaming of someone who made her feel special and unique. She dreamed of someone who couldn't quite be placed but was always there for her when she needed him.

She creeps slowly toward the dark, where the watching eyes are and only she can see.
 

Your footsteps echo hollowly in the vast hall, doors on parallel walls growing with each step. Curiosity grabs you by the hand and brings it to touch a handle, swinging one of the doors open. You squint, ambushed by blinding light.

    I was alive.
    As far as I could tell, I still had all my limbs. My toes worked— that was a plus. I could hear the beeping of a heart rate monitor. So my ears still functioned. Also good.

Whiskers woke up at around 10am. By that time his owners had already left. Whiskers then started his daily routine of walking over to the food bowl and spending about a minute or two munching down on the hard pellets that people call cat food.

I woke up to rays of sunshine hitting my face through my window. I blinked my eyes a few times to adjust to the brightly lit up room. I jumped out of bed running to my closet.

I touch the cool October breeze as I stand at the edge of my driveway waiting for the bus. My long strawberry blonde hair dances to the wind's song. I gaze upon the falling leaves.

    The x-ray showed hairline fractures in my bones. Many fractures. All over my body. “Look, here’s three more in your jawbone,” Dr. Martinez said. “How on earth did you manage that? We take our eyes off you for thirty minutes—”

Jack had lived at the farm his family owned all his life, and something had always seemed a bit off about the expanse of land. Every door and floorboard creaked in their old farmhouse, and there seemed to be an ever present chill over everything.

1  
May 22nd, 1972

Dear Papa,