Above my head, the life support machines continued their steady beeping as I cleared my throat.
“All children, except one, grow up.”
The words poured from my lips as I spun the tale of the boy who never aged, and the magical world he lived in. It was a well-known story, but like many people, I only knew Peter Pan from its many adaptations. I’d never actually read the original novel. So, I was interested to see how it differed from the story I thought I knew.
Yet, as I read, my attention kept shifting to the man lying in the bed beside me.
He didn’t make any other movements or cry out again. If it weren’t for the machines telling me that he was alive, and the slight rise of his chest with each breath, I would have thought he was dead. His skin was unhealthily pale—the parts of it that weren’t bright pink from new burns—and there were heavy circles under his eyes.
I wondered what color they were. Based on the color of his eyebrows, his hair was probably dark brown, but that didn’t tellme much. His eyes were the only part of his face I could see, and they remained stubbornly closed.
The longer I read without any reaction, the more foolish I felt, but I pressed on. I’d been asked to do a job, and I was going to do it.
Yet, as my own voice echoed off the walls of that room, I couldn’t help but wonder.
What was it like, being in a coma?
Was he aware of what was going on, or was it the same as sleeping?
Did he dream?
Or was it an endless nightmare?
CHAPTER 2
Mia
I was lying in a bed.Someone was asking my name.
I tried to answer.
Mia. My name is Mia.
When I spoke, my mouth felt like it was gripped within an iron vice. I couldn’t make my lips form the right shape, and my own name turned into a mush of unrecognizable sound.
Everything hurt. Even thinking seemed to hurt. Something bad had happened. The memory was vague, hanging just at the very edge of my mind like static. I reached for it, hoping it would give me answers.
For one brief moment, I recalled the image of flames, and the feeling of fire searing across my skin and smoke choking my lungs.
I flinched. That memory couldn’t be right. It hurt too much. Surely, it was just a nightmare.
The memory slipped away, and the pain disappeared with it.
Yes, that was right. There was no fire. In fact, I wasn’t lying in a bed at all.
I was…
I was…
I was sitting in a small chair in front of a large desk. One of the legs was shorter than the others, causing me to wobble every time I moved. My feet barely touched the floor, so no matter how still I tried to stay, my legs still swung in the air.
Each time the chair tipped, it made a neat little clicking sound against the linoleum floor.
Tip, click.
Tip, click.
It was like a game, seeing how long I could balance before the chair tipped again.