"'The pain comes unannounced. I don't know who it is. Or what it is. The only thing I know is that I don't want it in me.
It's just a soft headache. Which turns stronger. Until it becomes a beating pain. A beating pain in my head which then turns into nothingness. But what happens in me during that nothingness?
The last two times I felt a slight burning. On my wrist. As soon as I regained sense, I saw the blood.
The buckets of blood that were flowing off my wrist onto the floor on which I was laying. That vague sense of selfness didn't last: I passed out. The two times , I woke up on my bed, like nothing had happened.
Only the red, burning wound on my wrist.
This time was different. When the headache began, I knew there was nothing I could do. This time, the burning was much stronger. This time, I didn't regain consciousness.
But I could feel it, yes, I felt. The red warmth all over my arm, dripping to the floor as I collapsed onto it.
The awakening was much different too, this time. My head doesn't still know wether it was painful or nice.
I came to my senses strapped by my arms to a blue-and-white sheeted bed in a white, glowy room.
I tried to look around, not scared, but surprised. But soon found out I wasn't strong enough to move my head.
A woman I didn't know walked in the room. I knew so because of the sound she made, or rather, didn't make. She walked softly.
She looked startled to see me awake. Or at least her eyes did: they were the only part of her I could see clearly. The rest of her body and head was covered by a soft-looking blue cloth. She had light blue eyes.
They looked safe.
The woman unstrapped my right arm, apparently knowing I wasn't able to move, which is what I found out as I tried pointlessly to raise my arm. She softly rubbed a moist white cloth up and down my arm, which felt cold but comforting. She strapped my arm again.
She unstrapped my left arm and I noticed something I hadn't noticed before: it was bandaged all the way from my elbow down to the palm of my hand.
The blue eyed woman removed my bandage and I nearly pass out again: there was a red, bloody line all across my arm. The bandage was completely out and the wound started to burn. The woman looked to the back of the small room. It took me a minute's effort to make the connection, until I realized the dark thing on the sliver plate was a needle stained with dark red blood. My dark red blood.
Suddenly I felt like my arm and the stained needle, both a loud shade of dark red, were the only things out of tune with that white, neat room.
The burning on my arm grew stronger with each minute, but disappeared completely as she put the moist cloth over it. She finished cleaning it and softly swiped the cloth over my forehead. I was able to slightly raise my head.
Suddenly nothingness came. Not the painful, beating blackout I was used to, but a cool and soothing rest for my brain that seemed almost like a compacted dream. My regaining of consciousness was also much quicker.
I was in a soft and pillowy blue armchair in another white room that looked exactly like the other. But I knew it was another one. She was sitting in front of me, on another armchair.
When she started speaking, her voice was soft and warm, just as I expected. Because I knew I was going to hear her talk.
She told me a soothing story that seemed to calm down and put to sleep something in me. It felt inexplicably good.
Her story was about a butterfly. And its wings. And its life. And its beauty. As She was talking, I felt a warmness creep softly up my arm. I didn't dare look. I didn't want to look.
What was going on inside my mind as she talked was beautiful. Blue and white soothed thoughts that felt like they even had background music.
She finished, smiled at me and left. I dared look at my arm, now she was done talking. The remains of my wound were bare, almost nonexistent. There was a small, beautiful black, blue and white butterfly drawn into my wrist.
The sight of it calmed whatever remnants of pain were left in me. Like if I had been looking for the butterfly all along. And I knew how beautiful my life would be from then on. A quiet life in blue and white. And I promised myself I wouldn't let the old It kill he butterfly.' That's what she had said".
They all looked into the white room at the girl with the blue robe, staring at a blank point on the wall.