Nerved By Paralysis

• Vibha Balaji, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2021

A methodical droning rang in my ears. Beep… Beep… Beep, the sound gradually got brasher and shriller. A sweet scent of cinnamon wafted into my awaiting nostrils, ending up in a coughing fit. Not normal but chesty. I squinted as I slowly fluttered my eyes open adjusting to the white light engulfing my vision. After a few blinks, I set myself straight: A dimly lit, quite rustic bedroom. What had my therapist said? Three objects around the room and count backward from ten. Curiosity led me to the red articles speckling over the place. A scarlet red lipstick-stained mirror. 10, 9, 8. A simple maroon pillow splayed on a rocking chair. 7, 6, 5. A cherry red towel draped across a polished silver holder. 4, 3, 2, and 1.

I exhaled deeply as I felt myself finally getting a grasp. I tried to shift my weight onto my legs and swing them off the bed onto the ground. Yearning the coldness of the hard timber flooring against my bare, unexpecting soles. I couldn’t feel anything. No touch, no taste. Not my stomach rumbling even after two days of incessant eating. Not my knees placed awkwardly between the blanket over me and the fabric of my dress. Not my hair stubs standing on end as a chilling draft of wind lingered on my goosebump-laden flesh. Not me. My breath faltered as the constant rhythm of my heartbeat enveloped my hearing as if I were forced underwater.

My eyes darted across the room, in seldom bursts of energy as three black dots faded over my vision lulling me back to sleep. I drifted in and out, and in and out, unknowingly. Believing a considerable amount of time had passed, my left arm had numbed out though surprisingly, the pain of pins and needles still could not be felt. A muffled shout assured me that something was wrong. Very wrong. I couldn’t move. Strapped in with black leads of charred metal forming protruding lines over my body, introducing a livid bruise on the palm of my left hand. Struggling to overcome the burning sensation building up at the pit of my stomach, the muddy pools in my eyes now streaked with brilliant patterns of mascara, exhibited the very bane of my existence.

I wanted to scream. No, I wanted to shout. But as my mouth opened, not even a mere whistle could be heard.
I wanted to thrash my hands along the side of my body so much that they refused to be plagued to my sides no longer.
I wanted to leave, escape this foreign room exuding an aura of trickery but there was no freedom. Stuck in a cage with no will to fly.
Cherished love but stifled hate. I was exposed to it all but as the master said the words, I was OUT. There was only the buzz of the monitor left in the abandoned room. Only a simple beep…beep…beep, marked the journey of the forgotten jailbird.