The next morning I was no longer hungry, but there was a sore feeling etching down my throat. I wonder what I ate that hurt my stomach so badly and yet left such a sweet taste on my tongue. Hopefully it was a delicious meal of melon or burger. I'd settle for a salad of crisp lettuce and plump tomatoes. Crunchy croutons would lay at the bottom along with the dressing. The dressing would complete it with the taste of Italian Vinaigrette. I could also fall in love with a crepe. Banana and strawberry. I'd ask for extra whipped cream on top. It seems as if it's been years since I've had one of those. I wonder if I'll be able to try one again one day.
After a few minutes of thinking of delicious food, I fall asleep again for the rest of the day. The emptiness is relieving. There's nothing to turn my hair white with stress.
The day after that, I spend my five waken moments wondering what kind of place I was in. I decided that I must be in Hell or some terrorist organization. As long as it's just me being tortured, I'm sure everything will be okay. I couldn't bear it if I found out that some Faceless fellow were being tortured beside me.
The next day after that, I don't wake up. It's twenty four more hours of emptiness.
After that, I wake up on what seemed to be a cloud. Cumulus; the kind that the angels nap upon. My hands are rested on my stomach, but I can still barely move them. They feel weighted. I'm still as a terracotta soldier. A thick yet light layer of softness is on top. My head rests against a golden fleece.
The heart monitor beeps at a steady pace; reminding me that I'm still alive. There's a shuffle to my left side, but my eyes are glued shut. Despite my wakened state, I lay still as to not alert whoever is watching me so closely. I steady my breathing. The heart monitor speeds up, but not noticeably unless you are in a state such as mine; the state of having nothing to think about. There's a soft humming, but it's not for my sake. Nobody sings or hums for you unless they don't exist, such as The Faceless.
The sound of footsteps travels across the floor. The monitor picks up and I feel a bit of regret; the sound must already be annoying the people around me. There's the scraping of wood against stone.
"What did you do?" A man's voice asks angrily. There's a huff of a breath. The footsteps stop at the end of the bed and the heart monitor beeped unevenly.
"I didn't do anything. You can't just blame me for everything you know," Another man quietly growls. "He's just hyperactive, is all."
"If you laid a single hand on my patient." There's a pause lasting three seconds. The heart monitor is the only thing filling the air in this time. "Fine, I suppose you're okay."
"So what's wrong with the thing?" The Non-Doctor asks. I hear a tapping on metal. There's a gentle touch to my face, to the side of my left eye.
"Don't do that. It can't see anything anyways. The thing wouldn't know if it nearly died in this sort of state." I wonder the subject of their conversation, and I come to the conclusion that the thing must be me. I'm human but I've gained the status of an object. It's not as if I'm angry or anything. My name does sound like a new toaster brand. "It's probably just woken up a little."
"Well, that's bad isn't it? Shouldn't you inject some drugs in him or something so that he goes back to sleep?" I hear a clink of glass and sloshing of liquid.
"No, that won't be necessary. The thing probably can't even think straight. Getting shanked in the brain usually doesn't leave you in the best state. Here, have some raspberry tea. The others will be here soon enough." I heard the raspberry tea as it was poured in a cup. The room smelled of plastic and the blanket was soft under my fingertips. I knew all these things and yet I couldn't even tell the hair color of the doctor.
I always imagined that being blind would be like looking around a black room, but it was more like trying to see out of the bottom of your feet. It just wasn't there. Still, I can imagine the colors. I know that the room is white. The raspberry tea is a brownish red. The men's pupils are black and their sclera is white. Their blood is a deep red, redder than the tea. It's not really the same.
The feeling of having a handicap is so overwhelming, it's like a lesser scale near-death experience. It's horror but my eyes won't give any tears. They stay caged in my eyes and cling like a begging child. My hands clench into fists and I hear a shuffling.
"Are you sure it's alright?" The man asks the doctor. The doctor must have made a silent gesture. There's a creaking sound instead of his voice.
"Doctor Yamauchi, Mr. Washuu," Says a sudden female voice. I would have shuddered if I wasn't trying my hardest not be noticed. "There are three CCG members downstairs waiting for you."
"Who did they send?" Asks the non-doctor man, whom I now know as Washuu. There is a clink; he sets his drink on the table.
"Arima, Mado, Hanbee, and a younger uhmm… boy, I think," The woman replies. "Should I send them up?" I start to wonder how the nurse could have mistaken the gender, but I don't think about it too much. The names remind me of The Nameless. Was one of them related to my companion whispering Kafka? Maybe it was more Kafka instead of the whisperer.
"It must be Suzuya. Go ahead," Says Doctor Yamauchi.
"Make sure the younger one doesn't break anything," Washuu comments. Yamauchi laughs but he quickly stops. "I don't want any extra expenses. This thing is already over our budget."
"Yes, sir." The door creaked again as it closed. The room became silent for a moment, so much that I would have thought that they had left as well. The heart monitor begins to steady again.
"Shouldn't you be doing something about those irregular palpitations?" Washuu asks the doctor. Maybe I should have just stayed nervous. My warm blanket is removed and cool piece of metal is slid along my skin. It stops a while at my chest and my breathing is gauged. I steadily attempt to calm my mind but I can't seem to do anything about the frantic thoughts. Something sharp is pressed against my side. I whimper a little as it stings my already bruised skin.
"It's fine. Nothing can go wrong."
"Doctor Yamauchi! Please, we don't need the thing eavesdropping on us. Set it asleep," commands Washuu. "If you don't set it asleep, I will have it so that someone else does."
"I am the lead doctor for this patient, Washuu. Nobody else has the authority and I don't need anybody threatening me. I have had enough young men and women commanding me about when it comes to things that they know not a thing about." I don't know what this may mean to me, but I'm pretty sure the doctors on my side (Even if I'm referred to as 'it').
"I could have you fired for this, you know. I'm an associate special class, you're the junior here. Hand over the sleep medicine."
"Stop it! What are you doing? You aren't authorized!" Cries Yamauchi. There's the clang of metal clashing together and I can feel the bed moved about three feet as it is knocked into. Needles that once rested in my arms are jerked off. Other machinery also leaves me and the heart monitor begins a continous screech.
I'm dead. Maybe I was already dead by the time Doctor Yamauchi first woke me. My whole body is on fire and the cackling of the flames is drowned out by the rush of nurses running into the room.
"Let go of me!" Yells Washuu. "I'm trying to help you."
"Shut up, Washuu. Your yelling is hurting my ears," a familiar voice says. It's almost a whisper and I have to strain my ears to hear.