08-28-2009

Start Fiction:

     The building smelled funny as Ken walked through the door of Forrester Enterprises, a huge manufacturer of detergents, soaps and 'natural' cleaners. Having never been in the building before, he imagined they did all kinds of research in the building and perhaps they were just having ventilation issues.
     Standing in foyer, Ken was surprised that it was vacant. There wasn't anyone around, no voices. Walking to the receptionist's desk, his nose began to itch, burn a little. As he reached the desk, he saw a woman win a headset laying on the floor. Ken rushed around the desk to her side and checked her pulsed. It was there, but it was faint. Her respirations were shallow and inconsistent. She needed help and fast.
     Ken pulled the headset of the woman and filled 9-1-1. As he talked to the dispatcher, his nose burned worse and he felt a little dizzy; he even noticed his speech slurring.
     "Have you been drinking, sir?" the dispatcher asked.
     "I'm here for an interview," Ken said, "I think there is a chemical leak; my nose... nausea... passing out."      And with that, Ken did indeed pass out next to the woman.

     Ken awoke with an awful headache, his sinus' were burning and he had a horrible taste in his mouth. His vision was extremely blurry, eyes itching, but he was pretty sure he was in a hospital. Ken tried to sit up, but for some reason, perhaps his own safety, he was strapped to the bed.
     "Hello?" he called out, hoping someone was near. He heard sounds of someone walking near to him; high heels.
     "How do you feel?" a calm, soft female voice asked Ken.
     "Like hell," he said.
     "I am sure you do."
     "What happened? Is that woman alright?" he said.
     "Get your rest," the woman said as she placed her hand on his chest. "We'll talk later." he heard the tap of her heels as she walked away.
     "What happened?" Ken tried to call out, but his throat felt as though it was being torn apart when he tried to speak. He grabbed his throat and fought a swallow.
     What the hell happened to me? he thought as he felt a needle stick in his arm, became immediately drowsy, then black. He was out once again.

     Ken awoke once again and reached for his throat as he swallowed. It didn't hurt. His eyes itches only a little and his sinus' felt irritated, but not burning. He opened his eyes and could see better, well enough to see he was in some kind of hospital room with no windows.
     "Where the hell am I?" he said aloud. He could speak with very little irritation.
     I wonder how long I was out this time, Ken thought. He felt considerably better, it must have been a good stretch.
     The lights buzzed, chirped a little; almost rhythmic, akin to Morse Code. Ken had never really paid attention to lights buzzing before, but the room was so quiet he didn't really have an option.
     He wasn't strapped to the bed anymore, a sign he took that he was in fact doing as well as he felt. Ken decided to try and get out of bed and was surprised at the strength and stamina he had, considering.
     Walking around the small room, Ken was surprised at how good he felt. He opened one door and found a bathroom; a closet with a toilet, a sink and mirror in reality, but a bathroom none-the-less.
     Ken jumped as he caught his image in the mirror. He was bald, clean shaven. He felt his scalp; smooth, hardly any stubble. As he reached the back of his head, he felt a long scar. He knew he didn't have a scar before that day at Forrester.
     Ken felt a slight panic as he didn't remember being in an accident that would cause head trauma. He didn't fall that far when he passed out. Ken wondered if that was why be was restrained the last time he awoke. Plausible, but still, it bothered him greatly.
     Agitated, Ken walked out of the bathroom and sought an exit. He walked to the only other and grabbed the handle. To his surprise, it was locked. His stomach sank.
     What kind of hospital locks patient's doors? Ken thought. A psych ward, that's who.
     His first instinct was to yank on the door to get it open, or pound on the door and call for help. Ken gathered himself and wondered if doing either would arouse whoever is on the other side of the door and result in more sleep and more scars.
     Ken walked backwards to the bed and sat down. He was in a situation and he needed to clear his head and stay calm.
     Where the hell am I?

End Fiction.