A New Life: The Facility

People say that time heals all wounds, and over that time, we start to realize things about ourselves that we hadn’t before. Maybe it’s something that we said during a conversation that we could have said better, or maybe it’s how we carried ourselves in public that makes us cringe at the thought of our own personality. It’s not unreasonable to think these things. Hindsight, it’s what makes us human.

But what happens to us when we alter that perception, when everything we’ve ever done is thrown into question? Not by a third party, but ourselves. What happens when you can’t turn back to the life that you used to lead? When you’re forced to take matters into your own hands and move on from what you’ve accomplished, and start over?

These are questions that I didn’t expect to be asking myself, especially during this vacation I was on. Thing is, I don’t remember ever leaving. I do remember not feeling too well, and then walking into the woods outside of the cabin my friends and I were staying at. I remember the sounds of music playing from the speaker my friends had set up, just the worst of the worst new country. I remember drinking a lot with them. One of them lamenting they couldn’t bring their boyfriend while the others promised that we’d all have fun on without them, just us. I remember sitting by the fire, laughing about college classes as we all roasted marshmallows. I remember the sounds of the forest, the crickets, and the rustling of leaves coming from the critters that ran around in the darkness. I remember stumbling drunkenly into the bushes at the far end of the backyard. The only thing on my mind was that I didn’t feel good. It makes sense, because I also remember vomiting heavily into the bushes before stumbling even further into the woods.

I didn’t feel any better after puking, something felt off about the world, a sensation I can’t describe clearly. As I stumbled into the forest to get some fresh air away from the party, that’s where my memory becomes fuzzy. I remember passing out, and then waking up in the middle of the woods, I don’t know how far I went. I remember stumbling onto a road and seeing what I think is a pair of headlights. After that, nothing. Until now.

When I start to come to, I smell the sterile scent of what I can only assume are cleaning supplies. Lying on my back, I open my eyes for the first time since I saw those lights on the road. I feel a massive headache, I must be hungover. But, as my vision comes back and I start to force myself awake I realize, This… this isn’t the cabin.

Terror fills every inch of my body, I have a pretty good memory, and I know where I was beforehand, everything up to the party is crystal clear, pulling up with my friends, unpacking our things. One of them even brought an itinerary, describing everything we were going to do. I remember singing songs, making food, dancing, watching movies, and then, the fire.

But where I am now, it’s not anything like the cabin. I wasn’t there at all. Glancing around the small room, I can see the tiled floors checkered with an off blue and white, the walls, painted with a heavy coat of beige, but it’s clear that they’re made from cinderblocks. This… This is a school.  But it’s not set up like any school I’ve ever seen. There’s no desks, no chalkboard, the room isn’t even big enough to fit more than a few desks, and on the wall next to the door, is a sink, mirror, and trash can. If the tiled floors, cinderblock walls, and weird, popcorn looking ceilings didn’t scream school to me. There’s a small window above where I’m laying, the early morning light shining through. But, looking at the light for too long hurts.

I can barely move, as hard as I try, my body is rejecting whatever signals I’m sending from my brain. I feel nothing but fear, like if I move, something bad is going to happen. What doesn’t make it any better is the sound of footsteps coming from the outside of the metal door. Heavy boots. I don’t know if I want to know who’s out there.

I attempt to open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out… I can’t be under the influence of any kind of drugs, I’m completely lucid. I know this can’t be any kind of hangover because I’ve never seized up like this before. None of this makes sense. Why am I so terrified?

Slowly, I hear the footsteps of whoever’s outside dissipate. With the sounds gone, almost like magic, I can finally get up. Rising out of bed, I get out of whatever I was sleeping on, and look at where I was lying down. Sitting in front of me is a cheap frame, and a single blue sheet on top of an extremely firm, yet spongy mattress. Looking around at the room, I’m now convinced that wherever I am, is a prison, or at least some sort of prison.

But… why am I here? What’s the point of being in here if I haven’t done anything? I notice my reflection from my peripheral vision. I’m still wearing the black t-shirt I wore to the fire. So, whoever brought me here didn’t change my clothes. But, something seems off about my reflection. Turning towards the mirror, I feel uneasy, looking at the blob in front of me, I realize I can’t see very well… I’ve never needed glasses, so why can’t I see very far?

I start walking to the mirror, and slowly the reflection of myself starts to become clearer. When I finally am able to get a good look at myself…

“…This isn’t me.”

Whatever I’m looking at. That’s not me, It’s wearing my clothes, it has my shirt on, it’s wearing my jeans, it has my hair, but it’s not me. It’s not even human. This horrid monster in my reflection, beady eyes, a white face, black ears. This can’t be me.

I try to back up and move before whatever this monster is jumps out of the mirror and attacks me, but I can’t. I catch myself on the sink holding myself up, and the monster does so as well. I’m forced into a staring contest with this monster in the mirror. It’s not moving either, it’s just staring back at me, sharing the same expression of perpetual shock I am. Except, this isn’t the same feeling as when I was laying in bed. I feel bewildered, unable to process at what I’m looking at. This has to be some dream, it can’t be real. I’m sure that I’m still passed out in the woods, and I’ll wake up eventually.

This is the lie I’m telling myself, hoping that if I believe it enough, it’ll become true. But, the more I gaze into the eyes of the monster in the mirror, the more I realize that this can’t be a dream. I start regaining composure and pull my hands off the sink. As I back up the monster does as well.

I know it’s stupid to think that it’s just some hallucination, but I still look down to see if whatever version of me is on this side of the mirror is the me from last night. It’s not. My hands, still look human, I have all five fingers, but now, my nails are replaced with claws. Gray hair coats my arms, like a sweater I’m constantly wearing. I step back to sit down on the bed, but something trips me, and I fall right onto my ass. A sickness sets in, as I start to process the appendage sitting on the floor next to me. It’s a tail. That monster in the mirror….

Is me.

Instead of the feeling of pure terror I felt when I woke up, I feel sick instead. A horrid, gut-wrenching sickness emanating from my stomach, and up to my throat. I know I’m going to throw up again, and the best thing for me to do, is rush back to the sink. Picking myself up, I hurry to the sink, trying not to look at my own reflection. I start heaving into the metal bowl. But nothing is coming out. I can’t throw up. Each dry heave isn’t making me feel any better either. I feel nothing but disgust, like if I can throw up whatever is in my system, it’ll make me normal again.

However, the fact that nothing is coming out is just a confirmation of my current situation. I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want this. So why? Why out of all the people in the world, did I turn into some horrible beast? What are my friends going to think? They should know by now that I’m gone, they should be searching for me! They could come through that door at any moment, and come save me from this horrible nightmare. But, if they see… this… Are they even going to recognize me? If they do, are they going to want me back?

Now, I’m starting to cry, tears streaming down my now long face. Whatever I am, is still capable of feeling emotion, so there’s some solace in that. I pull myself together enough to sit back down on the bed, but I’m frozen once more, not in horror, or bewilderment this time, but sorrow. Every muscle relaxed, yet aching at the same time. I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want people to see me like this. I’m completely hideous.

Just then, I hear a voice whispering from somewhere in the room.

“Hello? Are… are you okay in there miss?”

The voice sounds meek, like it’s working up the courage to interact with me. I look around the room but I don’t see anything that the voice could be coming from. But the voice calls out again, whispering a little louder.

“Over here! In the wall!” The sound of his voice seems to be coming from the foot of the bed.

I get up again, wiping the tears from my face, and move towards the source of the voice cautiously. At the foot of the bed, is a small crack in the wall. Not enough to see through, but enough to hear. I muster up enough courage to say something to the voice in the crack.

“…Hello?” my voice cracks slightly, like I had just remembered how to form words. The sound, it’s the same as I remember, I still have my voice.

The voice responds, “Are you okay… miss?”

I hesitate to respond. “No, I’m… I’m not.”

The voice pauses, not responding for what seems longer than it probably was, but it responds once more, concern coating its words.

“Is… is there anything I can do?”

I feel almost insulted by this, what do you mean is there anything you can do? I’m a monster! But, I don’t think this person knows what happened to me. The anger in me subsides. I can’t be upset at him for asking if I need help. I take a deep breath and talk once more.

“I don’t think so, something is wrong with me. I… I don’t know how to explain it.”

The voice’s words are now more concise “I might know what you’re talking about.”

Whoever this voice is, he must know something, I have to ask him more directly.

Raising my voice a little, I say “What do you know? You need to tell me!”

The voice whispers some words, I can’t understand them, they’re whispering to themselves.

Taking a closer look at the wall, I notice now that the crack is larger than I originally thought, there’s enough room for me to stick my nails… er, claws? in. Quietly, I start to pry the piece of concrete out from the wall, it’s right next to whatever’s holding the blocks together, so it shouldn’t be hard to remove. Surprisingly, it pops out like a piece of a puzzle.

“What are you doing?!” The voice calls out in a whisper.

“Making it so I can hear you better, but, I think it’s big enough for me to see through.” I reply.

I peer into the wall to see who this voice on the other side is. But I can’t see anything. It’s dark. I whisper back into the crack once more.

“Hello? You there?”

The voice does respond, but it’s muffled slightly.

“I’m here, but I don’t know if you’re ready to see through the crack yet miss, based on what I heard of you before.”

The voice is right, Am I ready for whatever’s on the other end? If we’re here for the same thing, could he be a monster too? I’m still reeling from the shock of what I saw in the mirror myself. Whoever is on the other side, whatever they are, could it be worse than what I am? Although, this is the only other voice I’ve heard, if they’re not a monster, they might be able to help me, If they are a monster like me, maybe I can find some solace in knowing I’m not alone.

So, here I am, sitting in front of a crack in the wall, with a voice on one side telling me I’m not ready to see, not ready to accept the truth of this absurd situation that I’m currently in, inside of some building I’ve never seen, stripped of my own identity, yet forced to remember every second of my past, of what I used to look like, turned into some creature like a warped version of a fairytale I was told when I was a kid.

Am… am I ready to see?

“I’m ready.”