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Oblivious
Posted By: CoLd BlooDed<broken_lizard12@hotmail.com>
Date: 29 May 2005, 10:41 AM
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My legs are numb; but they subconsciously inform me that they're in an extremely awkward position. My arms are numb; yet, I can feel them drop down below my waist and adhere to the cold, seemingly metallic floor.
Wait.
Am I paralyzed?
A brief flick from my thumb ensures that I am not, but instead, just completely torn out of my skull like a heroine-addict feeding his obsession. It's a pleasant feeling.
My eyes dart up and down, side to side, corner to corner; and I begin to wonder if I have gone blind or have been shoved into a closet. Unfortunately, the former seems to make the most sense. Blindness is, or was, my greatest phobia—but there's no time to dwell on that now.
What happened to me?
I don't remember a thing; there are no clues or particular signs indicating my whereabouts. I seem to be stuck in void, a shadowed vacuum where sound does not exist. Oddly enough, it doesn't really bother me.
My stomach is churning, stirring a vague sense of vertigo within my limp body. It almost feels as if I am moving with the aid of an invisible assistant. It's a sensation I have never had the courtesy of experiencing before in my past life, whatever that was.
You know, guess it's true what they say, blindness does increase the other senses.
The clean scent of the air has been replaced with wet, musty humidity, like that of a sauna. My lungs seem to get smaller with each faltering breath, and my heart begins to throb in my ears. I can feel my spine twist with antagonized pain. I'd panic if my central nervous system wasn't shattered like a broken mirror.
The rank mugginess dissipates momentarily, but the musty odor clings to my trachea, nearly choking me. I feel as if it won't go away for some time.
The same rolling sensation I experienced beforehand has quickened, and I can hear my neck crack as the bones within gyrate wildly, tossing my head back and forth as if it were no more than a sack of munitions. No longer can I acknowledge if my eyes are wide open or sealed shut, but the more they swivel around futilely in their sockets the more they begin to strain. Colors swirl painfully behind the rotating shadow.
Willing them to greet sudden light just hurts them more.
Sounds have begun to fade in and out of aural perspective, but they are sounds nonetheless. From my current understanding, however, they appear to be nothing more than inaudible whispers. It's a chilling concept, really. Maybe someone's trying to contact me?
Perhaps I'm really just unconscious?
Not that either of the two are particularly great choices, but they would explain some of the recent occurrences which have undoubtedly left my body annihilated and disoriented. Yes, that is plausible. I've actually just passed out from exhaustion. Yes, that'll do fine.
Regardless, the fragmented waste that remains within my aching skull notifies me that this is just a horrible nightmare that will continue for all eternity. Hopefully, the bliss that currently courses through my circulatory system will last, for I know as soon as that ecstatic rapture leaves—like my knowledge, my mind—great pain will be inflicted upon me, both emotionally, physically, and mentally. Great pain that will possibly push me to the verge of crippled insanity.
Oh, well, I would say, enjoy life as it lasts.
Or would I say that? I'm, with all honesty, in no position to be implying what I am capable with, or what my personality consists of. It's all a sentimental act of composure, which I'm currently attempting to stitch my brain back together, bit by bit.
Now, it's not that I would exactly describe this as living, per se, but that point remains on its feet.
The filthy odor disappears along with my current theory of what has happened to me, and is genuinely replaced with the saturated scent of cleansing materials, of a freshly mopped floor. The gradual movement of my body halts, and I feel a certain warmth take hold of my figure after a brief fluctuation of blind vertigo. My arms cohere to my waist, and my legs subconsciously kick outwards. The friendly tepidness has claimed my entire form.
It takes all the strength in my body to form a lopsided smile.
The Office of Naval Intelligence Priority Transmission 02466B-01
Encryption Code: Blue
Public Key: NA
From: Caretaker Janice Ford, ONI Clinical Department
To: Doctor Catherine Halsey, Head of the SPARTAN Program
Subject: RE: Kirk's Condition
Classification: RESTRICTED (ONI Directive)
/start file/
Dr. Halsey,
I am pleased to inform you that Kirk is doing just fine here at the Clinic. He's progressing much farther than the others, it seems, in psychological terms.
Unfortunately, it appears he has endured through much physical pain during the augmentation process, and, since his body is still trying to cope, we've administered drugs to the teen to keep him from hurting himself during system lapses. Everything is working out just fine.
Also, I would just like to congratulate you on the others that DID manage to survive the "developments". Me and several others in the work area have been debating whether or not the supersoldiers would become a success.
I just wheeled Kirk into the Ward where he is now sleeping peacefully; after I finish typing this up I'm going to issue his prescribed drugs.
Me, or anyone else working the shift, will be sure to update you on his—and the others—conditions.
Have a good one,
J.F.
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