The lights were bright, like orbs they shined through his closed eyelids. A monitor was beeping continuously. Ben's eyes fluttered open, seeing a dazzling white ceiling above him. He was lying in a bed, feeling extremely numb. The tubes inserted into his nose had an odd plastic smell to them which turned his stomach. Ben tried to move, his arm seemed to be connected to some sort of needle. Suddenly, a figure was over him, a blond woman. Ben blinked, his eyesight was blurry without his glasses. "M-mom?" He murmured, his voice sounded far away. The woman touched his forehead, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. "Hi there, Ben." His eyes focused somewhat on the woman above him, it wasn't his mother. "Who…are you?" Ben slurred, his mind working slowly. "It's Juliet. I'm taking care of you." The woman said, her blue eyes blinked. He realized suddenly that she must be some sort of doctor or nurse. He was lying in a hospital. Ben inhaled sharply, just from speaking, his throat began to feel compressed, his breathing becoming labored. He choked, his chest hurting as he did so. The woman quickly brought a napkin up to his mouth, as he coughed into it, heavily, feeling as if he was almost choking up his insides. When he finished, she pulled it away, and he managed to see that there was a pool of red blood on it. When Ben saw that, he began to feel panicked. He wheezed slightly from fright, that definitely wasn't normal. . . "Just settle down, Ben." The woman said sternly. Though she seemed somewhat concerned, there was also a mixture of separation and formality in her voice as if she didn't want to get to close. Ben realized that he had really messed up. The regret was making him become overwhelmed with sorrow. Tears entered his blue eyes, streaming down his face. Why would the Hostile shoot him? It had been his only chance to escape from his father, from his miserable life at the Dharma Initiative. They, apparently, didn't want him either. No one wanted him. Everyone was always leaving him, abandoning him. He was a fool to believe that they would ever want him either. Maybe his mother wouldn't even want him either… Maybe that was why she had walked away from him four years ago. Maybe she too, blamed him for her death.
"Ben…? Honey…It's alright. You're going to be fine." Juliet was looking at him with pity, a little more emotion entering her voice. Ben suddenly sobbed, his misery overtaking him. No one would even care if he died. No one would even notice. He wished that he had never been born. The doctor or nurse disappeared over him. Ben closed his eyes, tears making their way down his face in their set path. He opened his eyes as he felt someone grab his arm. It was Juliet again, she was holding a needle, about to stick him in the wrist with it. Ben pulled back instinctively. "Ben, Don't move. This won't hurt at all… It will just help you go back to sleep, alright?" Ben relaxed in her hold, as she inserted the needle. It pricked him, but he didn't react. His lids became heavy, and he closed his eyes, returning to a deep slumber.
In Portland, Oregon, he had lived in several different apartments. Each one seemed to become more shabby than the next. His father sat on the saggy brown couch flipping through the advertisement pages of the newspaper, as a seven year old Ben sat on the beige carpeted floor playing with a few building blocks, organizing them in different ways. Roger sighed, getting up from the couch, folding the newspaper, and striding over to the phone on the wall. He picked up the receiver, and looked at Ben, pointing a finger at him, "You be quiet while I'm on the phone, you hear me? Don't even move." His tone left an ominous 'or else' feel to it. Ben nodded shyly, swallowing, hardly daring to breathe, as his father dialed the number on the page he had tabbed. "Hi…Yeah…I saw your ad in the paper. Are you hiring? …Oh…Really? Uh, Yeah, I've done some…" Ben lost interest in the one sided conversation that his father was having, and placed his concentration back on his building blocks. Ben stacked them, trying to create a house. As the time passed, Ben's mind went to the cookies that he knew were located on the top shelf in the kitchen. Ben considered asking his dad to get one for him. He glanced up at his father, who was not looking. He was too busy chatting to the employer, giving his credentials. There was no telling how long he would be on the phone. Sometimes this sort of thing took (What felt like) hours, and he knew there was no way he was going to get a cookie before dinner.
So, Ben decided to take things into his own hands. Quietly, he snuck into the next room where the kitchen was. Ben examined his options… There was a counter below the row of shelves. He would have to get onto the counter first. He grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, and pulled it over to the counter, and climbed on top of it, pulling himself onto the counter. He stood, carefully, and tried to reach the jar. It was still out of his reach, by only a few inches. Ben grabbed onto the shelf below it, that held the dishes. Leaning his weight on it, he tried to rise up to reach the jar, it was almost going to work, until the shelf collapsed with a loud crash, sending the pile of glass dishes to the floor. Ben jumped aside, his reflexes saving him from falling off with the set of dishes. A loud cursing from the other room, made Ben cringe. Suddenly remembering his father's warnings, he became fearful. His eyes began to fill with tears, the dread of what would await him made him begin to shake. The door to the kitchen swung open with the force of a bull as his dad charged in, his face red and his hair falling into his face. He looked with disbelief at the mess that was in front of him. It was unbelievable that one kid could create such a disaster. "What the HELL are you doing, Ben? I thought I told you to stay put." Roger grabbed Ben, pulling him down from the counter. Ben began to cry as his father surveyed the mess. "Great! Just what I need, Ben. Thanks a lot." Roger tutted, sighing with annoyance, as he kicked some of the broken plates with his shoe. Ben gasped, putting his hands to his face in shame.
"What the hell are you bawling about? I'm the one who has to clean this mess up. Go on to bed. You're not getting dinner." As Ben fled the room, he could hear his father still cursing, the plate pieces clattering as he threw them in a bag. He pulled the covers over his head, and closed his eyes tightly, wishing that the noise would end.