A Prison of My Own Design

1.1

Consciousness came slowly. With a sluggishness I'd only felt once before when I was sick in bed with a terrible fever, I struggled to throw off the last vestiges of sleep. Attempting to roll onto my side to catch a glimpse of the red glow of my alarm clock, my head lolled around ineffectively as though I were dangling from the side of the bed. Blearily, I pealed my eyes open to get my bearings.

I was greeted by indistinct black blurs. Between my poor eyesight and the apparent lack of any form of illumination, the darkness that greeted me was nearly identical to the sight of the back of my eyelids. I thought I could make out a sort of undulating movement, but the longer I stared the more certain I was that it was a trick of the mind.

Something brushed against my fingers.

Reflexively, my arm flinched, an instinctual response to protect my digits, but the pull met a strange resistance. My head lolled around again, attempting to catch a glimpse of my arms and torso. I must have been thrashing and wrapped myself up in my blankets during the night as even my legs seemed to be held in place by a soft semi-yielding force. I shifted my weight and attempted to work my limbs free, however the blankets shifted with me, yielding just enough to prevent me from building leverage to pull myself out, but not enough to allow me to move.

Something long, thin, and soft of texture shifted up from my shoulder, slithering up over my jaw bone and across the top of my nose.

Adrenaline flooded my system, violently burning away the sleep that clouded my mind and I screamed. My body was covered in a writhing shifting mass. I began to thrash in panic as I felt it coiling more tightly around my limbs, the weight pressing down on my torso as though in an attempt to smother me. There wasn't enough force to prevent me from breathing and the coils didn't hurt, but there was enough pressure to make me distinctly uncomfortable and the claustrophobia of being pinned in the dark caused panic to supersede rational thought.

Warm tears streamed down my face and I screamed again as loud as I could manage under the uncomfortable pressure. I tried to thrash more violently in an attempt to make space to free myself, but the coils only wound more tightly. Desperately, I stretched my right arm away from me trying to find something, anything, to grab onto and give myself an extra boost of leverage. My hand waved around with the small amount of leeway it had and found nothing.

As my body was wracked with panicked sobs I could feel myself giving up. I was trapped, bound by what must have been some eldritch terror and unable to free myself. My body was weak, possessed by an exhaustion that saturated me to my very bones. There was no escape from this prison and I could do nothing but deliver my plea into the darkness.

"Please... help me..."

I recoiled as my prayer was seemingly answered.

With a loud slam, a curtain of light fell over me. It seemed to pulse and shift as the tendrils of the something coiled around my head, but its position remained unchanged, an anchor to focus on in the consuming darkness.

"Taylor!" A mature feminine voice called out to me. It was punctuated by the quick staccato wrap of heeled shoes on a hard floor. The curtain of light was disturbed by what appeared to be a woman's legs approaching. They seemed to give off an ethereal and strangely comforting glow that illuminated the area around her. It revealed a floor covered in writhing leafy black tendrils: vines, I belatedly realized. As the woman continued her brisk approach, I watched with dawning hope as where the glow she radiated fell, the vines receded back into the surrounding darkness. In four beats of my frantic heart, the woman reached me and I felt a hand wrap around my own.

"Taylor? Taylor can you hear me? Can you understand me? Remember the breathing exercises you were taught. This is your power at work operating under the direction of your subconscious fears. Your power can't hurt you. You are in control. Breathe slowly, focus, and try to relax."

I forced myself to focus on the voice, clinging desperately to the words and following the instructions. Shakily, I sucked in a deep breath and tried to hold it. I failed and coughed out, panting manically. Sucking in another deep breath through my nose, I forced myself to hold onto it. In response, my chest screamed in protest and my muscles spasmed as they continued their attempt to suck in more air. When it became too much to hold onto I coughed out and panted a few more times before I steeled myself to suck in and hold onto another breath.

"Good. That's good Taylor. Deep breath in, hold onto it, and let it out slowly. You're doing well. Remember, you're in control here. Nothing's going to hurt you. In this space you're the master. This is your world. If you will these vines away, they will disappear."

A shining hand filled my vision and it slowly forced its way in through my prison, the vines receding from its glow, before it came to rest on the back of my head to support my neck. Gradually my breathing began to slow as I focused the entirety of my attention on the calm and confident voice speaking to me.

"You don't need to be afraid. Don't allow these vines to restrain you. They should be supporting you, uplifting you, forming a hammock for you to rest on. You are the master here. They obey your will and your will alone. Calm yourself, and this world will be calm."

Clamping my eyes shut, I focused on the breathing exercise I'd been taught to stave off hyperventilation. Taking a deep breath, I held it to a slow count of five before breathing out and repeating. Gradually, my heart rate began to decrease and the numbness that had been spreading through my limbs started to recede. With it, the vines that wrapped around me gradually loosened. I focused my attention on the space around me and as though revealed by a lifting fog, a picture began to form in my mind.

A rectangular area, six yards long, three wide, and three tall traced itself out for me. I could picture every corner, every surface, and every curve in the space as well as the alterations made to them. The wall dividing my sleeping area from the small attached bathroom had become twisted. It's surface stretched and deformed, becoming long black vines that snaked their way around the room. The ceramic tile of the floor had been altered to an uneven cobblestone like texture, and the concrete walls became cracked and deteriorated as though they'd faced hundreds of years of erosion. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, dripping a dark liquid that smelled sickeningly of blood.

Still trembling from the combination of adrenaline and lingering panic, I focused on the vines. I imagined myself reaching out with imaginary hands through the space to take hold of them. Meticulously, I pulled and prodded like I was working on a particularly troublesome knot. A sliding sensation over my pajamas alerted me to the unraveling movement of the vines even as I could feel the specific positions of each one in my mind. They all moved as one, untangling from me in a continual sinuous motion as they layered together in a latticework beneath my back.

The hand supporting the back of my head gently lowered me down to rest on the newly formed cushion of vines. The one holding my own hand released as well and after a moment I heard a rustling sound coming from behind me. I continued to regulate my breathing and focused on the calming sound of the movement nearby. A short time later, I felt two rigid objects slide along the sides of my head behind my ears and two soft pads came to rest on the bridge of my nose; my glasses I realized, and opened my eyes.

I was greeted by a warm smile that gently crinkled the features of an Asian woman with short black hair. Her skin seemed to emit a pale white glow that I could feel on my own like the warmth of the sun. It had a calming effect on me and quickly my tense muscles relaxed.

"Good morning Taylor." She began in a soothing tone. "I'm Mrs. Yamada, one of the psychiatrists here at the Asylum." She turned away and made a show of looking around the transformed room. "I would turn on the lights so you could have a proper look at me, but they don't seem to be working at the moment." I tried to shake my head, but it simply rolled limply side to side. My muscles felt like limp noodles.

"S'all right... can see you... glowing..." My tongue felt thick and heavy, and I couldn't seem to properly voice what I wanted to say. She turned back to face me and gave me a curious look.

"Glowing? I am?" I tried to nod and my eyelids closed feeling heavy. After a brief struggle, I managed to open them again and my eyes refocused.

"Glow's... laxing... vines... didn't like it." Mrs. Yamada's brows creased together and she turned down to study the vines still writhing slowly across the floor. She took a careful step forwards and once again the vines receded from the soft glow thrown off by her leg.

"Is that what happened?" She asked, turning back to face me. "The vines don't like being in my glow? Does anyone else glow too?" She turned and gestured towards the door. "Do you remember Mr. O'Brien? Does he glow?" A large man was standing there holding onto a wheelchair that sat in front of him. His face was concealed by an enormous black gas mask that seemed to leak a purple miasma and his body was covered with asymmetrical bits of dark grey armor plating. The plates occasionally shifted, two drawing together to close a gap between them only to reveal new gaps where they once were.

My head rolled from side to side again. "No glow... gas mask... armor... not enough..." Mrs. Yamada frowned as she turned between me and the man with the wheelchair. After a moment, her smile returned and she approached my bed again.

"I wanted to talk with you about how you're adjusting to your stay here, but since you've just woken up why don't we take a walk to the cafeteria to get some breakfast. Does that sound like a good idea?" I bobbed my head in a limp nod and Mrs. Yamada gestured to the man with the wheelchair.

He pushed into the room, masked face turning from side to side to give the space a wary look, and turned the wheelchair to rest against the side of my bed, locking the wheels. Mrs. Yamada reached out to slide a hand under one of my shoulders and Mr. O'Brien attempted to do the same with the other one. As he drew close, the vines beneath me seemed to react poorly, surging up and lashing out in an attempt to wrap around his hand. He yelped in surprise and jerked his arm back, stumbling away towards the door.

"Are you alright Taylor?" Mrs. Yamada prompted me with a concerned look. "Do you not feel comfortable with Mr. O'Brien touching you?" She gave me a moment to process the question before I slowly shook my head side to side again.

"Not me... vines..." She gave me a placating smile and shifted herself to stand fully behind my head, hooking her elbows beneath my shoulders and wrapping her forearms securely around my torso. With a gentle heft, she lifted my back from the vines covering my bed and slid my rear end into the waiting wheelchair. After letting me lean back into the padded surface, she made her way back around the chair and hooked an arm under my legs, pivoting me around to rest properly and sliding my legs into the cushioned supports on the leg rests. Moving back behind me, she pulled two straps over my shoulders and down across my torso in an X before fastening them somewhere around my waist and pulling them snug.

"There we go. Now, let's go see what there is for breakfast. I've always liked the blueberry muffins here. They've..." As the wheel locks were released and the chair started to move, my head rolled around to hang forwards limply. In my mindscape I could feel the area defined by my room pull away from me, and like a fumbled item falling from my hands, my grasp on awareness faltered.

For an indeterminate length of time, I felt as though I was floating through an inky sea. I was distantly aware of the faint sensations of my body jostling slightly, and of muted sounds trying to make their way to me, but I was unable to piece together what they meant. Occasionally, flashes would illuminate the inky darkness around me and images of varying scenes would resolve themselves: cast iron fences topped with black roses penning me in, smooth white walls punctuated by tall thin towers, greasy black swamps filled with oil instead of water, fields of obsidian spikes with razor sharp edges and glassy sheens. The images were as fantastic in their incredibility as they were terrifyingly foreboding. These were places that could only exist in the realm of fantasy and dream, and yet to me they felt as though they were within my grasp, merely a few paces away, waiting for me to come and explore their impossible expanses.

A flash of light blinded me and I flinched back, closing my eyes. After a moment, I opened them and tried to blink away spots that weren't there. With a small measure of embarrassment, I realized I was staring at a white surface covered with black spots. I tried to shake off a sense of lingering confusion and pulled my head up to get my bearings. I was in a small cafeteria, sitting in a wheelchair that was pushed up to a round table. A muffin sat on a napkin in front of me, next to two Styrofoam cups, one filled with water and the other filled with a dark steaming liquid that smelled like tea.

Across from me an Asian woman with short black hair sat tearing pieces off of another muffin to pop into her mouth and an open thermos steaming next to it. She seemed familiar to me and I struggled with the feeling that her name was on the tip of my tongue but remained just out of reach. I raised my hands and pushed up my glasses to rub my eyes in an attempt to clear away the confusion. The woman sitting across from me caught the movement and looked up from her muffin, giving me a friendly smile.

"Good morning Taylor. My name is Jessica Yamada and I'm a psychiatrist working here at the Parahuman Asylum. You look like you're a bit more lucid now so why don't you get something in your stomach and we can talk a bit about how you've been adjusting. I picked out a banana muffin for you, but if you'd rather have something else we can go back up and take another look."

I blinked and studied the surface of the table in front of me as I processed her words. Even as I stared, the black and white pattern seemed to swirl together, forming intersecting squares of various sizes. I jerked back and felt something soft press down on my shoulders keeping me in my seat. I looked down and realized I was strapped into a wheelchair before looking up to give Mrs. Yamada a bewildered look. She was studying the changing pattern on the surface of the table with a critical look before she turned her attention back to me and gave me a comforting smile.

"Ah..." My attempt to speak was cut short as I realized my throat felt uncomfortably dry. I reached out with a trembling hand and took hold of the cup of water and slowly brought it to my lips. After a few big gulps, I set it down and tried again. "Ah, good morning. I'm..." I trailed off again as my gaze was pulled back down to the table surface. In a small circle around me, the table was slowly but visibly deforming. It created a miniature scene, like a hobby model of a strange fantasy maze made of smooth white walls and black floors. My eyes flicked back up to find Mrs. Yamada still calmly studying my expression. I clasped my hands together in an attempt to stop the shaking and gulped.

"I don't think I'm doing so well."