Have you ever slept on your arm so when you wake in the morning you freak out when you feel an arm that isn’t yours but it is, its just you don’t have any feeling left in it to feel your own hand slapping it away? I woke up with that feeling streaming through my veins. Along with a burning sensation that crawled from my heart to the end of my fingers and the tips of my toes then up my spine and into my brain.
I could hear feint noises that whole week or day… my senses were so out of touch I didn’t know if today was yesterday, last week or still today. The floor was still the ceiling as I clutched around for the nearest item to balance myself as I tried to stand. I couldn’t figure out why gravity was working so hard at keeping me down until I realized I wasn’t strapped down to the bed… I was just tucked in by some mother who had obsessive compulsive disorder and didn’t want even a bed bug to breath under the covers.
If I had to guess it was at least five hundred degree’s under the covers. My feet were cold but sweaty and after a little wiggling I freed my arms of the bed monster. I glanced around to find a pitcher of water, a cup and two pills lying on the bedside. Whoever it was holding me there didn’t want me ill or didn’t want me complaining. The pills were nothing big, just two Advil but I swallowed them without the water. I hate water.
A little while later, a long time wiggling out of the covers and some swear words in frustration and I was free. Though, instead of jumping out of the bed and running away, as if my body and intuition was telling me not to, I just sat up with my back against the wall and stared at the door, waiting for it to open itself.
It gave me time to think; think about what had happened before I had woken up. All I could remember was a van and two men. I couldn’t remember if they were friends but if they were my enemies, I’d be dead right now. The reward for being a Spirit was being killed the first second a Hunter had the chance.
There was another bed in here, empty of course, but it spoke to me. Not literally but I got the sense that this was a place were people often sleep. The bed I slept in was messy because I had just spent the last twenty minutes trying to free myself but the bed across the room was messy for another reason. It was used.
By whom though, I haven’t the slightest idea. My curiosity killed the entire cat society. I wanted to know who slept there, who slept in my bed, where I was, who was here with me, friend, foe and even if they were cute or not. Seriously, the thought of how cute they could be actually crossed my mind. I personally hoped I had been captured by some lunatic lady with five moles on her nose, I even hoped I had been caught by The Stalker and that’s what she looked like… she… he… I instantly changed my mind.
Being caught by The Stalker… I don’t want that. Last time The Stalker had me pay a visit I nearly died, especially when I called The Stalker a bonehead and spit at them. Never saw his or her face though, couldn’t even identify the voice. I just knew The Stalker existed and after being population enemy number one, The Stalker had grown fond of me. The Stalker hated my complete existence for how bad I mad him/her look.
This kind of control has always been around. It makes the government feel a sense of control and leadership; it keeps the people happy and unaware. They kill a Spirit at the age of 13 and don’t feel bad about it, instead they say he was plotting to kill people in some way or another and people are more than happy to discard him and blacklist his parents, guardians and pretty much his entire family.
I’m sure my family suffered greatly when I was diagnosed. The people now days are so brainwashed that you could tell them the sky was falling because a Spirit planted a bomb in the sky and they would run for a bomb shelter. They have no sense, they have no books to educate them and none of them ask why because they have been brainwashed for generations. That was an easy way to determine if people were Spirits. They would ask why from the minute they could speak.
Exaggeration of course but that’s the only way to explain it.
Have you ever dropped a penny or some other thing-a-ma-jig down the heater vents and went to get it out but when you open up the vent and look inside you see a whole lot of stuff you’ve dropped in the passed and now you can’t help but want to rip apart the vents and see what else is in there?
Or ever wondered how something works and you want to take it apart?
That is how I am, but with everything. I want to know why the sun is yellow and warm, I want to know why clouds turn grey and when they engulf the sky you seem sad, I’m far to curious says others, not other spirits just other people… inside the walls kind of people.
I wanted to know more than anything: Where am I? But most people would want to know that. I wanted to know everything behind that question. I wanted to know how it looked outside as well as inside. I wanted to know what the smells were and how the walls felt as you guided your hand on them while walking towards the next room. I had to know.