Part Two: The Girl in the Marketplace

Amelia wakes up far from home, with no memory and entirely lost,

until she meets a pair of strange twins who claim to be her friends.

But they aren't the only ones who seem to know her, and

Amelia isn't sure if she should trust the twins' word.

Can they protect her from the dangers of her forgotten past?


[Part Two: The Girl in the Marketplace]

Chapter Eight


PRESENT DAY


I woke with a start.

A gray, cloudless sky. That was the first thing I saw. Next were the trees, slowly coming into focus, their bare branches reaching up towards the sky like skeletal, clingy fingers. I was lying on something soft, but cold. Small flecks of white spiraled towards me. I couldn't feel my fingers or toes and for a second, I thought I was in one of those nightmares where I was paralyzed and trapped.

But I found I could turn my head with relative ease. My muscles protested to the movement, like I had been asleep for too long. The ground came into view, soft fuzzy white. Snow.

Wait. Snow?

As in, winter?

I surged upright, suddenly out of breath. What the hell was going on? Why was it snowing? It's September, in New York, it shouldn't be snowing yet.

But the more I looked around, I realized I wasn't in New York anymore. At least, not the city. The trees and snow extended, limitless, into the distance, with no signs of skyscrapers in sight. In the distance I saw a huge mountain range. It was completely unfamiliar; then again, I had never been outside of the city aside from a few field trips, so I really didn't know what kind of mountains I was looking at right now. The Appalachians were pretty big, right?

Even if this was it, that didn't give me a lot of answers. Why was it winter all of a sudden? Was it another one of those freak snowstorms in the summer, like the one that happened a few years ago? Weather was kind of unpredictable, but I found myself doubting that over a foot of snow could last in the hearty spring of the Eastern Seaboard.

It didn't make any sense. Then I realized I was asking all the wrong questions. Who cared why it was snowing? The more important question was: Where was I? How did I even get out here?

What the hell happened?

A scan of my recent memories only gave me what I already knew – Manhattan, end of September. I was reading Frankenstein. Peter was there, maybe? It definitely wasn't this cold. Nothing that told me why I was here, why I was so far away from the city, from civilization.

Panic started to rise. Then I finally looked down at myself, and realized that things were even worse.

I was wearing clothes I had never seen before. White pants, white tank top, things I didn't own. They were way too clean, starchy and made of cotton. They reminded me of the clothes hospital patients wear, or maybe inmates at an asylum.

It was also completely inappropriate for this kind of weather. I tried wiggling my toes, with some success. They were stiff with cold and when I did move them, it started to hurt.

I wrapped my arms around myself. My fingers brushed against something on my left shoulder. I frowned, saw the bandaged wrapped around my arm. Oh, great, I hurt myself, too? I picked at the tape, trying to see what was underneath – but as soon as I saw a flash of red, I chickened out and slapped the bandage back in place. I winced, gasping at the sudden pain. A fresh wound, on top of it all.

At the turn of my head, I saw my hair out of the corner of my eye, flicking over my shoulder. I reached up, feeling my hair. It was soft and smooth – smoother than it had ever been in my entire life. Wherever I had been, it must have some quality conditioner. Why would I have left that behind?

Its quality wasn't what bothered me, though. The length was. Before, my hair, although thin, had been long – mid-back, at least.

Now? It was just under my chin. Anger coursed through me at once. Why the hell would I cut my hair? It was one of the few things I liked about myself! Short hair never looked good on me.

And maybe it was just me, but my body didn't feel right as well. Just… all of it. My lungs felt big and empty, feeling every stab of cold with each breath. My arms and legs felt too long, too heavy. My shoulders and hips, too wide. Maybe it was just from the numbness of being in the snow for too long.

Oh, my god, what happened? All this change, and no memory, no answers, no nothing. I was lost, I was cold, I was hurt, and (now that I think about it) starving. My breathing was coming out in sharp gasps. I couldn't remember any of this happening to me. Was it even me who put these clothes on? What did I do to my shoulder? Why did everything hurt? It felt like I ran a hundred miles without taking any stops.

My throat felt parched. At least that had an easy solution. I reached for some snow, brought it to my mouth. I didn't care that it would lower my core body temperature – I needed hydration, now.

The cold was soothing, and brought a new shock to my system. This time, though, it was beneficial. My thoughts cleared for a moment, and I allowed myself to indulge in the snow melting on my tongue.

I had to stay calm. The best part about this situation was that I was still alive. I could work with that. It wouldn't be too hard to formulate a plan, find a way to get out of the woods (literally) and get help. Go home.

Holy crap, Mom. Did she even know where I was right now? She must be freaking the eff out right now. I'm going to be so grounded.

No, no, don't think about that. Just concentrate on the problem at hand. Prioritize.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down again. Thinking about Mom, or my life before this would just be a distraction. I needed to focus on surviving.

Steeling myself, I got up. My legs were weaker than I thought – my knees almost buckled beneath me, and I had to grab a tree to support myself. My feet felt too big, unwieldy, likely due to the fact I couldn't feel them and control them as I used to. Using the tree to keep myself upright, I straightened my back; I felt like a hunchback. My muscles were so stiff that it just seemed easier to stay hunched over, but that made it harder to walk. I forced myself to stretch my spine, earning only more pain for it; apparently, I must have been lifting weights, too, because my shoulder and arm muscles were sore as all get out.

Good god, what did I do? I looked around. The world seemed a little clearer now that I was standing up. I could see a greater distance, if only slightly. There were no footprints I could see that might've hinted where I came from, or if anyone else had been around. I guess I really was on my own. I heaved a sigh, pushing away from the tree, stumbling a little on my own legs before regaining my balance. I swayed dangerously, but managed to stay upright. The snow drift didn't make it any easier to move.

I put one foot in front of the other. My leg sank into the snow. I was almost thankful for the numbness – the pain the extreme cold would bring wasn't registering. I wondered if I already had frostbite. My toes seemed fine, not discolored or anything, but I imagined if I stayed out here for much longer, it wouldn't stay that way.

I had to find a house. A road, a car, anything that might have people, a phone I could use. I needed to get help. I needed to get home.

That was a good enough plan for me.

I scanned the forest again. Which direction should I go? I didn't want to accidentally wander deeper into unknown wilderness. There had to be a sign of civilization somewhere.

It took an agonizingly long time for me to see anything remotely like what I was looking for. All I could see were trees, hundreds of trees, and mountains, and a sky so thick with clouds that I couldn't tell what time of day it was. I was about to give up, and just pick a random direction, when I spotted something sticking out from the trees on a low mountain to my right. Lines too straight, shape too wonky shaped to be a tree.

A radio tower.

Yes! In a place like this, any town would have to be close to that tower – otherwise, coverage would be crappy at best, and utterly nonexistent at worse.

I grinned, despite my dismal situation. Hope filled my chest and I started trudging in my direction. I would find a town, I could call the police. Everything was going to be all right.

Not once did I think to look behind me at my own silhouette lying in the ground. If I had, I would've seen the deep red staining the snow.

When I found a road, I got excited. It was paved, although very old, but it was the second sign of civilization I had seen so far. I took a break on a nearby rock, considering my options. This meant I was getting closer, right? That there was a house nearby, maybe a town. I might actually get home. I chose a direction and started walking again.

But my feelings of hope and optimism didn't last long; maybe twenty minutes in and still no houses. Thirty minutes. An hour. The sky got darker and not even a measly little car passed by.

As night came closer, it got even colder. I couldn't stop shaking, and exhaustion started to take hold again. The world shifted and swayed with each step — dizzying, but became indiscernible when everything went black. The night was peaceful, but my mind fell into a stupor, unable to tell fantasy from reality.

Every so often I'd see a spark of light and stumble forward, suddenly hopeful, ready to cry with relief. It could've been anything; like from a window, a car, even a distant lantern. But each time, the light would just grow farther and farther, before blinking out completely.

And I'd stop. And I'd cry.

And I kept walking.

I only know I was on the road by the roughness beneath my feet. It was only slightly better than the lumpy cold of the snow, but not by much.

Eventually I stopped looking. I just closed my eyes, hung my head, and made sure my feet were still moving, even if was only inches, maybe if was just a slow, zombie-like shuffle to some distant, far-off dream.

I wanted Mom. I wanted her hug, her smile, her it's-going-to-be-all-right. I wanted her to tell me what to do, that I wasn't in trouble, that everything was going to be fine so long as paid attention and did the right thing.

But what was the right thing? I was doing all I could: keep walking, keep moving, find help. But it didn't give me what I want. Answers. Where was I? How did I get here? Where were my clothes, New York, my life? Where was my Mom?

Sounds started to blend into each other. I couldn't tell my feet from my fingers. I didn't even bother to hug myself anymore; I was so cold it didn't even matter.

Suddenly, my foot fell in an unseen hole - I gasped, unbalanced, as my ankle twisted under my weight. I crashed to the tarmac, sliding on my hands. I heard cloth tearing as I skinned my knees. At the same time, there was an awful crack as my ankle gave out and I whimpered — I would've cried out had I the energy left to do so.

My breathing came in hard. I was on the verge of sobbing again — the pain was a harsh reminder of where I was, how lost I was, the utter hopelessness of it all.

I tried to get back up, but my ankle collapsed as soon as I tried to straighten it. Another stab of pain sent me down, face against the tarmac. There was dirt in my mouth, but I didn't try to get it out — my arms felt too heavy, joints stiff, fingers unresponsive.

And I felt so sleepy. The ground was soft, like a giant pillow, so warm and welcoming. It was almost like I was floating, and I didn't fight it. I didn't want to. I just wanted to close my eyes, rest for a bit. Maybe when I woke up again, I'll be back in my bed, and find this all to be a terrible nightmare...

Even as I sat my head down on the ground, skin tingling at the invisible blanket being dropped over me, light flickered in the distance. Silhouettes, thin columns of trees, scattered and thick like a line of soldiers, tangled with crooked, bone branches, washing over me like shadows of memories.

I opened my eyes again, disturbed to have my sleep taken away from me so quickly. What was that? Who turned on the lights? It was past midnight; I needed sleep. I had school tomorrow.

The lights grew brighter and brighter, accompanied by a growing roar and my head dropped, the world falling out from underneath me and I slipped into oblivion.


~o~


The body appeared like a ghost beneath their headlights.

"Sergei, look out!" the woman cried, grabbing her husband's arm and pointing with her other hand.

He saw it a split second after she did and hit the brakes - tires screeching, wheel spinning around, and the entire car careening around the body. It swung back on two wheels, the passengers screaming as the car tilted at a 45-degree angle, before the car made a 180 spin and crashed back down on four wheels, coming to a complete stop.

The engine whirred, but all was silent within the vehicle. Man and wife were breathing hard, exchanging looks of shock with each other. Then they looked back at the body, unmoving on the road. It appeared stark white under the only lights within a twenty-mile radius — white and red and very, very dead.

The woman whispered, almost as though she were afraid of being overheard. "Are they...are they dead?"

The man, Sergei, blinked slowly, his shaking hand wandering to the door handle. His shirt was wet from spilled coffee. "I-I'll go check. Stay here, Katya. Call your mother. I think...I think we're going to be late."

As the woman scavenged around the car for her purse (everything had been tossed around), the man stumbled out of the vehicle, his knees wobbling from the shock of the near-accident, the fear of what he might discover on this lonely stretch of road in the middle of nowhere.

The cold hit him like a brick wall and he shivered, pulling his jacket closer around his body. Maybe he should've gotten his gloves first — only they were lost somewhere in the car.

He took hesitant steps towards the body, his body casting a large shadow as he walked out in front of the car. Bending down, Sergei held out his hands in caution. Now that he was closer, he could see the body was a girl. Young, thin, and dressed in what looked like cotton pajamas. Her back was covered in red streaks.

It took him several long seconds to trace the blood to the two holes in her back.

Sergei gasped, stumbling back on his hands in a crab-walk when he realized what they were. His heart hammered in his chest as a million possibilities ran through his mind: was this a murder? Some sort of mob hit? A kidnapping? Or maybe something to do with those brownshirts. Something that an average man like him, with a family and a job, couldn't afford to get involved with.

"Oh, my god," he murmured, drawing a hand over his face. What should he do? He wanted to leave the body, to just go home like he never saw anything, but there was no way he could convince his wife to do the same. "Why me?"

If he didn't do something now, then it would only be someone else who inevitably drove down this road. Maybe it would lead into a real accident, with injuries and death. Sergei didn't want to touch the body, but he also didn't want anyone else to get hurt.

Still unsure if he was going to take the body or leave it, he approached her once more. He'd have to contact the police. There would be an investigation. He might be a suspect. So would his wife.

They would be very late getting home.

He sighed. Well, it was too late now. Might as well get it over with.

Then Sergei rested his hands on the girl's shoulder. Her skin was very cold, just like a dead body should be.

Then she groaned in response, very much like a dead body wouldn't.

Sergei yelped, jumping back again. He wrung his hands, like he had just burned himself. And right before his eyes, the girl rolled on her back, arms flopping against the cold ground, her lips and fingers a worrying shade of blue.

"Katya!" he called, unable to hide his panic. He scrambled to his feet, cupping his hands over his mouth so the woman could hear him over her conversation on the phone. He saw her shift behind the dark window, her eyes wide under the dim light inside the car. "Katya! Get the blanket! She's still breathing!"

As Sergei turned back around to look at the girl, he could hear a string of curses as Katya unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the backseat to get their emergency gear. It was meant for the occasion that they might end up stranded in with no gas, if or when it ever happened.

He leaned over the girl, tried shaking her awake. "Hello? Little girl, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Sergei could barely wrap his head around this. There was no doubt that the holes in her back were from bullets, yet this girl looked completely fine, if rather frozen, besides that. And she was breathing, somehow, she was still alive.

Her lips moved, but her voice was so soft that he couldn't hear her. Sergei brought his ear closer, but she was just saying gibberish.

Footsteps beside him, and Katya appeared, wool blanket in her arms. She sounded breathless, like she just had a fight with her mother. "Is she — is she still alive?"

"She's breathing," He said, which was true, although he didn't know for how long. "She needs a hospital."

Katya nodded slowly. Although her face was in shadow, she had gone pale. "The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Unless you want to call for help —"

"— She'll freeze before then —"

"— Mom will be so angry —"

"— Your mother is always angry —"

"— Sergei!"

"What?" he frowned as his wife tossed the blanket over the girl, her hands flicking like she was afraid to touch the body. "Let's get her in the car. It'll be warmer."

The girl was heavier than she looked, and it took both Sergei and Katya to haul her into the backseat. What made it worse was the girl's struggling — somehow, after spending what could've been hours or more in subzero temperatures, she was still breathing, still moving. Sergei wondered if this was normal.

Katya voiced his worries when they returned to their seats and he kicked the car into gear. "Do you…do you think she is one of them?"

"Them who?" Sergei pretended not to know what she was talking about.

"You know. Those people with the-the fire." Her voice stumbled over the words. "Like what they did to that town down south. The smoke in the mountains. Could she be —"

"No." Sergei said firmly as they got back on the road. It wasn't that he didn't believe his wife, but that he couldn't afford to at this moment. And maybe, yes, he hoped Katya was wrong. "She is only a child. What could she possibly have to do with the attacks?"

Behind them, the girl muttered something, a language neither of them understood but recognized nonetheless. Katya and Sergei exchanged looks. Katya said, "She shouldn't be here. They don't let her kind past the borders."

"We didn't hear anything," Sergei said, the safest answer. "We take her to the hospital, then we go to your mother's house. We tell no one. And we pray. We pray that nothing happens."

"You are a fool, Sergei."

"And yet, you still married me."


~o~


Soft, warm darkness.

This time, I woke gradually.

Drifting in and out. Unable to cling to consciousness — catching a glimpse of pale green walls before slipping back again. Sounds, noises echoed in my head, rattling inside the hollowness before fading out. Then coming back in loud bursts, making me jump. But I might as well be competing for the Olympics for all that my body responded to my thoughts. Which is, not at all.

My tongue felt thick and dry. I couldn't speak when I had the coherence of mind to try. It scared me — I thought I would choke on my own tongue, and in my panic, I fell back into oblivion.

I felt weightless, like I was floating on lily pads. It didn't hurt to breathe, and as long as I didn't think about my hands or my mouth, I could enjoy the numbing sensation.

And just as I was starting to relax, it left me.

I wanted to cry out, complain, claw it back. Reality was a cold, uncomfortable truth that I couldn't face yet. A dull ache traveled up my arms, down my legs. Something was pressed against my face, but my arms were lead weights. I couldn't lift them to reach anything.

Light pierced behind my lids, for me to open my eyes and look around.

I had never been in this room before in my life, but I could recognize a hospital when I saw one. The washed-out color, the shape of the gurney, the IV tower and the tiny TV set up in the corner. Directly opposite me was a door. To my right, white curtains separated patients from one another. Pale sunlight came in from the veiled window to my left.

Beyond the door was a rush of people — doctors in white coats, nurses in patterned scrubs and clipboards, EMT's rushing past with stretchers on wheels.

It was loud and chaotic. Someone had left the door open, because it wasn't like I was sleeping or anything. The cacophony of shouting and footsteps and machine noises made it hard to focus on anything. The sounds entered my head and knocked everything loose, and I felt like I was barely treading water, being pushed and pulled by a current I couldn't see.

My gaze slid to the TV, finding a news reporter and the captions beneath her. The letters were strange, like someone forgot what the alphabet looked like, but I could barely fathom my own confusion. They were too fast for me to read anyways, so it failed to leave an impact on me.

The reporter, blonde in a blue suit and microphone, stood in front of some smoking ruins of a building. As firefighters worked behind her, she said, "...has been completely destroyed by the blast. Police have yet to determine the cause of this deadly explosion. Although response was quick, there are five reported casualties. No word yet on any suspects, but police believe that this may be a result of foul play..."

I watched, uncomprehendingly, as the report went on, showing different images of the building, before and after the explosion. It looked like it had been some sort of post office, now rendered a charred shell. In the center of the main room was a distinct circle of untouched floor, with black streaks radiating out from it. Against the walls were black silhouettes of people, arms raised like they had been pushed before their shadows were memorialized in smoke and ash.

There were also several civilian videos of the explosion as it happened — all from on the street, the various cameras shook and crackled as a bright orange cloud erupted from the doors and windows; glass shattered and cars shifted in their parking spots. People screamed so loud it overpowered the speakers and the shots became unrecognizable as everyone started running.

It was chilling to watch, but my body barely reacted to my thoughts. I could only watch in horror as the videos repeated themselves. The reporter wasn't speaking English, I realized, and it was too bizarre to understand how or why — but somehow, I understood what she said.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

I jolted, surprised. Turning my head, a concentrated effort, I looked up at the short-haired nurse who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She had hooded eyes and nicotine-stained fingers, a general air of indifference that made me feel unwelcome here.

She gazed at me, entirely expressionless. "Do you remember your name? Where you are?"

Still not in English, yet perfectly understandable. I worked my jaw, trying to find the right words. "I-I don't...what day is it? What happened to me?"

"Just answer my questions, miss," The nurse replied slowly, counteracting my sluggish but panicked voice. She held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"T-three," I blinked hard several times, trying to grasp what was going on. Was this all real? Was I really in a hospital? Had I gotten hurt, or was it another asthma attack? I could feel the tubes in my nose, feeding me oxygen, and at first, I thought that was it. "M-my mom, where is she?"

"Do you remember your name?" The nurse asked again, raising one eyebrow. "Once we identify you, we can contact your family. I'm sure they are very worried."

"A-Amelia..." I tried to say my last name, but I couldn't remember it. I knew I knew it, but for some reason it just wasn't coming to me. "It's...Amelia...Amelia? Amelia something?"

The nurse looked disappointed, the first recognizable expression on her face. "Perhaps it will come to you later. You have been unconscious for several days now. It is October 25th, 2012."

I stared at her, shocked. "Two-thousand — two thousand and twelve?" I repeated, already shaking my head. " No, no, that — that can't be right. It's 2010. It's September. It-it can't be 2012, it doesn't make any sense —"

"Miss, you need to relax." The nurse approached the bed, holding up a hand in reassurance. She placed it on my chest, as I had managed to actually shifting in my bed, jerking on the tubes attached to me. "There are other questions you have to answer. The police want to talk to you as well. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um, um," I closed my eyes, my head falling back against the pillow. I squeezed my eyes as I concentrated on the scattered memories, all out of place. "A forest. Snow. Mountains. I was lost. I didn't — how did I —?"

"Two civilians brought you here," The nurse answered the question I couldn't complete, her voice still calm and placating. "They found you passed out in the middle of the road, eleven at night. You were very lucky — if they hadn't found you, you would've died from the cold."

"Cold," I repeated under my breath, the word as real and present to me as a living person. I shivered, even though I was actually quite warm, and I shook my head, wanting to be rid of the memory.

I had been lost. Lost. How? How could it be 2012? There had to be some big mistake. I couldn't miss... two…? Two years! Two years, just gone. But how? What happened?

The questions piled up, but I couldn't sort through them fast enough. I chased them in circles and in my growing confusion, I started to panic, overwhelmed by the uncertainty, the fear. My heart started beating fast, my breath picking up speed. To the nurse, I demanded, "Where am I now? Who are you? Where's my Mom?"

"Amelia, you need to take deep breaths —"

"Don't call me Amelia!" I snapped, hating the way she said my name. The rage and bitterness were sudden and powerful, and I jerked in the gurney, trying to get away from her touch.

"Who are you?" I spat. "Tell me where I am!"

I started to get up, but the woman pushed me down again. Scared and angered by the manhandling, I brought up my arm — suddenly mobile, suddenly there — and slammed my hand into her shoulder. The woman cried out, falling back hard, grabbing a side table but only knocking it over as she landed on the floor.

I gasped, horrified with myself, staring at my hand. Did I do that? Did I just shove a full-grown woman, twice my size, to the ground?

I tried to bring up my other hand, only to meet resistance. Heart pounding, I jerked forward and looked down. Two metal cuffs, one linking me to the gurney. "W-what the hell?"

I yanked against the handcuffs — once, twice, three times — before the metal chain snapped like dry pasta and I was free.

I didn't take the time to consider what I just did. Instead, I launched myself off the bed, stumbling over my stiff legs and jelly knees. The tubes in my arm and face pinched and pulled, but I yanked them off impatiently. Then my legs gave out beneath me and I gasped, catching myself against the gurney. The world spun and I felt nauseous for moment.

The nurse was already getting back up, calling for help. Two orderlies rushed in, but I was startled by how small they were. Standing up a little straighter, I cried out as one grabbed my arm and tried to pin it behind my back.

But he was weak, so weak. I wrenched myself easily out of his grip and — entirely on instinct — grabbed the front of his shirt and threw him against the nearest wall. He grunted in pain and crashed to the floor.

The second orderly, alarmed by my strength (that made two of us), let out a roar before attempting to tackle me to the floor.

He didn't even reach me before I backhanded him across the face, knocking him away. It didn't even hurt. The orderly fell across the gurney, dazed, while I totally freaked out.

Legs still shaky, I stumbled over the orderlies as I made my way forward. The nurse threw herself out of my way, utterly terrified and screaming for back-up, but before any reinforcements could arrive, I threw myself out the door.

Perhaps a little too hard. My momentum carried me into the opposite wall on the other side of the door. I braced the impact with my shoulder, and the plaster dented beneath me.

Stunned, I pushed off the wall and careened through the halls, never taking more than a split-second to acknowledge something before taking off again. The corridors were narrow and crowded, and no matter what I did I couldn't help but collide with nearly everyone in my way.

It made no sense — the spaces where I should've slipped through before were no longer wide enough. Everyone here was so much shorter than I expected, when I was so used to being towered over. I felt like Gilligan on the island of Lilliputia, where the world just didn't fit me anymore.

People exclaimed and cursed as I barreled down one hall after the next. I had no idea where I was or where I was going - so I took random turns, hoping to find a door or even a window that led outside.

Just when I felt lost in a maze of endless white halls, I spotted a green sign over a door and made a beeline for it.

There turns and one trip over an empty gurney later, I burst through double-wide doors and found myself on a street in the middle of a city.

A city.

Not New York City.

The cobblestones were freezing under my bare feet, sharp stinging pain that stuck to my skin — but I was so shocked that I didn't even notice. I didn't see the snow or the overcast sky or the people staring at me, the wild and manic girl that just came tearing out of a hospital, wearing nothing but the same white clothes they found me in.

No. The only thing I saw were the buildings, made of stone and wood. The cars, faded paint, outdated by over twenty-years. The cobblestone street, the signs in Cyrillic. The men on the rooftops, carrying guns.

I dropped to my knees in dismay, arms hanging limply, all breath leaving my lungs. I fell into a snow drift, helpless, gaping as the entire world crashed down on my shoulders.

I stayed there until my view was blocked by a sea of legs. Doctors and orderlies having finally caught up with me.

I didn't react to their presence until one tried to haul me up. Even though I knew there were only trying to help me, my body rebelled, rejecting their touch. At first, I flinched away - but when they grabbed my upper arms, I started to fight back.

The sounds coming out of my mouth weren't human. I didn't realize I was crying until I tasted salt on my tongue. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

I managed to land a punch on one man's face. I didn't know how important he was, but next thing I knew, I felt a sharp prick in my arm and before I could knock away the needle, I was already falling.

The orderlies caught me before my face could hit the ground. The world faded as they dragged me back, my feet leaving paths in the snow and slush behind me. The last thing I saw was the alien sky before passing out completely.