Verisimilitude

• Mirac Mermi, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2017

I awoke to the susurration of the crunching leaves. The gleaming shafts of sunlight fondled crimson and gold, making their way through the parted blinds and dancing across my bedroom. My eyelids encasing the hazel pupils which lay under them. I sought comfort in my freshly-washed sheets which ever-so gently carried the aroma of the ebullient serenity of lavenders.
My tracksuit soaked up the early-morning dew which was delicately placed on the blades of the freshly-cut lawn. The crisp breeze tousled my auburn hair and howled amidst the shedding trees. Auburn ribbons whip my face as I savour the crunching of leaves as after the morning they would be a soft mess. The gentle sun penetrating through the clouds warmly seeped into my pale skin as mum lead the way.
I watched the minute hand race with the hour hand on my skeletal-wrist, as I was left to tremble at the Port-Authority-Bus-Terminal. Slumping into the Brunswick green leather only to let out the pheromone of the grime of twenty-years. The passing greenery became a hazy blur but I hadn’t missed spotting the Pamela-Hill fields, which were laid out like one of Oma’s quilts.
There she was. Imogen. Sitting right in front of me. We had that kind of friendship that bloomed right in the centre of your heart. I like to think back to when we were children. How shy she was around me, cheeks flushed, curls dancing up and down with every step. She was always by my side, always ready to talk.
The fluorescent tube flickering above my head was on its last leg. The cream-walls deeply scored by the metal trolleys rained cream-flakes as I walked by. I pulled my confused eyes from the polished vinyl-composition tile to catch a slight glimpse of a patient room. The bare walls decorated with cheap prints lacking any sort of vibrancy.
I chased after mum, who made me come here because of Imogen, slightly turning my head to make sure Imogen was tagging along, every 5 seconds passing a set of doors with tags attached to them. Maternity, cardiology, neurology, and a few other I missed, mums pace got faster, until she halted to a stop. Psychiatrics.
The cluttering of medical trolleys doing laps in the hallway awoke me. I was prisoned in white bed-sheets which carried the aroma of sickening antiseptic. I was medicated up to my eyeballs. The woe of the autumn-day crept into me, making its way through my veins into the heart which was wistfully beating. Glancing at my surroundings with a blurred sight, squinting my eyes in hope of understanding what was going on. My dilated pupil caught the chart resting against my bed.
NAME:EADEN MARAS
D.O.B.12/03/01
DIAGNOSIS:SCHIZOPHRENIA
Imogen? Where’d you go?
I came to realisation. The light crept into a shadow, pain going and coming like the ebbing tide on the grainy sand. My mind desperately calling out for yours, the connection gone, you were gone.
I gasp for air as I realise, verisimilitude.