Average or Worse

Chapter Four

 

The last thing I could remember was blackness.

And as I tried to open my eyes that was all I could see. Am I going blind? Was there some kind of explosion?

Suddenly I began falling, falling out of what though? Am I dead, or dying? It was certainly one of those, all I can see is light peering into the darkness, it was the light you see before you die I guess.  I guess this is a good thing; I could see my family. I guess this is a good thing; I had nothing to leave behind but my corn. But as I came to a crashing holt I realize it isn’t that easy, it never is for me.

I open my eyes, I blink a couple a couple of times and then I see it, the blood all over me.  At the point of realization where I noticed I was in a chamber. That my falling to my death was really just me falling over the edge of my bed. Wait my bed? I don’t have a bed. So where am I?

I tried to get up and look around; but instantly the pain set in. A bomb went off in my leg and my head throbbed like crazy.

The strangest part was when I turned back around I saw that on a bedside table was food, and a thing of pills. I crawled over to the bedside table, each centimeter of movement causing another eruption in my leg. Every thought that passed and bob of my head caused another aftershock which increasingly became worse until finally the trek to the bedside table was completed and I opened the pill packaging.  The moving of my hands rapidly didn’t help my pain much either. They are swollen and crusted in blood.

All this blood, do I have Redden, is this what it feels like? I need a mirror immediately to see the first sign, if my eyes had gone crimson color yet.  I scratched my head furiously for the red liquid to come out; it would almost be a savor.

After several minutes of itching the surface of my scalp it resulted in an eyedropper amount of blood. Releasing I probably had Redden I was in a way relieved. But did I really want to die? Now that I had it I was scared, panicked and mad at myself. I had promised myself I would do something great, and now I would die before I even thought of it.

 But was I really infected with the disease that killed my parents? I could have easily scratched my head hard enough to make it bleed, or falling out of the bed on my head could have made some gush out. I started to consider all of the possible excuses and maybe’s but suddenly the pill came over me.

My eyes began to shut and I slowly drifted into a completely different world.  One where it was alright. I was in heaven, or some drugged version of it where my mom was cooking breakfast and my making my favorite food, or what used to be my favorite, before the corn, that is.

A smile spread across my sisters face as mom gave her a cup of hot tea and she looked at me and as dad read the newspaper. We were the normal American family. No question or thought of this ever happening. But it did, it’s always the people who think it could never happen to them.

 

                                                                                                ~

I woke up to the sound of a terribly scratchy voice yelling somewhere in the distance.

“…How are we supposed to carry…”

Pressing my ear to the wall didn’t help, plus it set of more pain in my head. A deep sad ache went through me as I thought of last night, my horribly, wonderful drugged dream. 

“You have to be kidding! Everything? That’s impossible! Stop lying and go get gas for the Ford…”

After that I couldn’t hear much but the conversation sent a million questions running through my mind. What is that hard to carry? And what did they run out of? Did something get stolen? Am I anyhow related to their conversation? Maybe they are talking about carrying me, as in my dead body, is hard to carry. Which sent the idea of them trying to kill me through my brain…

The pills! I instantly spit it out, but as I reached into my mouth to inspect it there was another thing I hadn’t thought of in the first place, how was I to overlook it.

Why do they even have me here?

I felt completely imbecilic, once again I was too busy being sorry for myself to realize what was going on.  Just a pattern of my stupidity I suppose.

My body began to ache all over from my lack of medicine. I tried to sit up to look for my  bag so I could eat food I knew wasn’t poisoned instead of taking the chance with the dry bread, chicken broth, and water on the table. But as soon as I even tried to stir my left leg I instantly fell back to the hard bed and cracked my back. Of course it hurt, but it made me realize something I hadn’t before.

There was a white band on my ankle. It looked like the type of thing from a hospital. As I tried to move towards my ankle I felt an ocean of pain swim to my giant wound on my thigh. Bursts of spray lodged themselves into my head as my eyes slowly crept towards my ankle.

Gunshot Victim  

A surge of realization shot through me. I was shot, it explains everything. This is probably part of the clinic, the part reserved for people who don’t have Redden. The reason I’m so separated and locked away isn’t because they want to kill, it’s because they are trying to help me. A surge of relief shot through me. But I guess that’s kind of a bad metaphor. How long would it take me to recover?

Immediately I started searching for the medication I had spit out and gulped down the whole glass of water. Then indulged into the broth occasionally dipping the now cold bread into it. It wasn’t much; but it was the first cooked food I had had in months.

Soon another pill magically appeared and straightaway after taking it I feel asleep. No dreams though; just a nice eight hours of solid nothingness.

                                                                                ~

I woke up to the realization of being shot. Again, I was too busy in my wasteland of thoughts to think of the real question.  Who had I been shot by and more importantly, why?

I thought of all the simple possibilities; a group of gang man who ruled the streets because of  their parents money and immunity against Redden. A man over taken by the need to take his anger over the insanity Redden causes. Or maybe a homeless man who found a misplaced gun just shot where ever he could see.

But then I think what if somebody is after me. The moving man when crazy and got upset I never responded to him. Maybe my sister came for me after so long of not responding to her letters. The girl could think I still had a copy of the photo I took and thought I would give it to the police. Or maybe the gang man who almost took my life. The list just goes on of who could want to come for me.

Listing all the people who could have shot me doesn’t answer who actually did it. I took another pill that appeared and everything became much fuzzier. I really didn’t care who shot me anymore. I just wanted everything to be okay. Which it would be, if I took another pill.

I smiled as another tablet came to my bedside table. My eyes fell halfway closed and sighed, but not of sleepiness but of all my problems being solved, if only I had another pill. I frowned as I wished for another one. But it was all okay as the druggy-world combined with the real world. Suddenly all my real-world problems had druggy-world solutions.

Crawling to my bed and jumping up into the bundle of blankets I held my knees and thought of the shooting, of my family, of what the people how are taking care of me ran out of.

But of all the things I thought of I couldn’t think about the most important; what great thing I would do. I thought about making a cure to Redden but if top scientists from all around the globe couldn’t solve then I most defiantly the kid who barely got away with B’s in science his whole life couldn’t cure it. What else could I do? Kill every single person in the world who had Redden and then disinfect every object on Earth. Hardly possible. If it was even, it would take years. But would I have the heart to kill everyone? Old school teachers of mine, neighbors hanging on, and my sister.

There was nothing I could do, was there?