Monster

By M.S.B.

I woke up to bright fluorescent lights blinding my dazed eyes. My arms hurt, and my hands were sore. Slowly turning my head to the right, I watched the morphine drip into the IV. No one was in the room, and I tried to call out for someone. My voice was hoarse, and I was very confused. I found the remote controlling the hospital bed, and I pushed the button allowing me to sit up. My eyes were finally adjusted to the light, but I noticed that everything seemed to have a red tint to it. My arms and hands were fully bandaged. I felt like a mummy. What happened to me? Where was my mom? Why was I here?

A nurse walked in and gasped. I apologized for startling her and asked what happened. She made no reply. Instead, the nurse walked out of the room and grabbed the doctor. I overheard her saying “It’s gotten worse.” Panicking I tried to get out of my bed, but when I leaned over to step off the bed I felt sharp pains in my back. Running my fingers over my back, I noticed there was more gauze. Was I in a car accident? Did I need surgery? The doctor walked in the room with an empty needle. He said hello and drew a vial of blood from my arm. The nurse was instructed to take the vial to the lab, and the doctor sat at the edge of my bed. He said I had been taken, tortured, and left for dead by some mad man. When I told him that I had no recollection of this, he explained that the memory loss was a result of a chemical drug this man was injecting me with.

This was a lot for me to handle, and I was on the border of tears and disbelief. Then, my mother walked in. She gently hugged me, and I heard her crying softly on my shoulder. I told her I was fine, but she just shook her head. The doctor looked uneasy. He placed his hand on my shin and said that the memory loss was not the only effect of the chemical. My heart was racing as a million different scenarios popped into my head. I never expected what happened next. This was the type of stuff that happened in movies, not in my ordinary life. My mother and the doctor lead me to the bathroom mirror to show me the most striking effect of this super drug. My once short auburn hair was now long and jet black. My olive skin was snow white, and my eyes, my eyes were ghastly. The whites of my eyes were blood red. It looked like all of the blood vessels in them spilled open leaving a permanent crimson stain. The dark emptiness of my pupils took over my previously hazel irises turning them black. The contrast of the black and the red made me feel like a monster. I was terrifying.

The doctor said they had been running tests on me for a few weeks. The tests determined that the chemical was highly radioactive. It mutated my genetic code changing my appearance drastically. I asked if the bandages were from surgeries or the tests, but he shook his head no. A nurse who was standing in the doorway came in the room with a tray of gauze, scissors and antiseptics. My mother gave the nurse the okay to change my bandages while I was awake for the first time. They had me sit back down on the hospital bed and extend my right arm first. The nurse began to cut open the fabric and gently peel it from my skin. I had over 200 stitches going up my arm in a spiral that began at my shoulder and ended at my wrist. The nurse cleaned the stitches and let the wounds breathe while she unraveled the other arm. The palms of my hands were branded with symbols no one understood. Despite the severity of the burns on my hands, they seemed to be healing well. The injuries on my arms and back did not bother me that much because I figured everyone had scars. I just couldn’t get over my eyes. The doctor told me they could give me a drug that might reverse the effects of the mutant chemical, but the side effects could be disastrous. The counter-radiation could end up amplifying genetic mutations. I had a lot to think about. Did I want to risk it? Was it worth the chance of getting even worse? While I was deciding this, my boyfriend walked in. He kissed my forehead, and looked at me with pain in his eyes.

The doctor pulled my mother out of the room to speak with her. Jacob told me all about school, and how everyone helped him look for me in the three weeks I was missing. He said he thought about me every night and worried whether or not I was okay. I asked him how he could stand to look at me like this. He said “Remember what I told you at your 16th birthday party last month?” I nodded my head in agreement.

“You said you have loved me ever since we became friends freshman year,” I said.

“Well I meant it,” he said.

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