twelve
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↳ purgatory ↲

TIME. SUCH A COMPLEX CONCEPT.

When I had it at my feet — knowing I had an entire life in front of me, I breathed it like air. Let it worship me. It crawled through my veins and beat through the chambers of my heart like it was my lifeline.

Only when the world stopped, did I ever truly acknowledge it. I took notice to it in the form of a wristwatch, on Rick Grimes. He had been wearing it since the day I met him. The day the prison fell. In the quiet hours where it was only Carl and I in that house, waiting for his father to wake up, I saw that little hand ticking away.

I saw time, and I never forgot about it again.

Time is not a complex concept. It's here for a while, and one day, it's not. It passes within the blink of an eye, ticking away.

Tick,

. . .

Tick,

. . .

Like a clock. The same object which now woke me from a disoriented state of slumber.

When my eyes came to a slow open, they set on the time-teller. It was simple—rounded in its usual nature. Bolded black numbers contrasting against white background. Two skinny arms, one that synced with the subtle click sounding through the air.

It was moving, something that didn't register until now. It seemed so ordinary to watch a clock on the wall tick — only, it wasn't, anymore. No mounted clock had moved forward since the power had gone out, in the very beginning.

My eyes flicked down to the bed I was tucked into. The sheets were thin but the blankets were warm. Warm, like they had been run through a dryer recently. They smelled of a soapy fragrance—one that slightly singed the edges of my nose. It was peculiar to smell something that didn't reek of death for once.

I attempted to sit up. Jesus, my head was aching something awful. Static rushed through my eardrums momentarily. I pressed the tips of my fingers into my pulsating temple. Blinking viciously, the light in the room seemed to gently dim. The rushing in my ears became softer, and my attention was brought to the dressings on my body.

My arms were bare, my shoulders covered. I folded the sheets back to look closer at the blue, neatly ironed gown that hit just past my bruised kneecaps. The hues of purples and green on my skin mimicked something unnatural. Some kind of depiction of outer space, or the terrestrials.

I must've taken some tumble. My limbs were decorated in small scabbed lacerations. It seemed like I'd been tossed around in a blender. Like I'd taken a midnight stroll through thorns and sharp twigs.

Trees. The image of a forest came into mind. I couldn't remember the context. . . only that I had been running, and I had been frightened. I remembered the feeling of roughened bark against my back. The pine air that had been filling my lungs with an unknown fear.

An IV was shoved into the fold of my elbow. I could see discoloration beggining to occur on the skin around it. This IV line led up to a bag nearly emptied of clear fluid.

A fresh vase of purple flowers was placed at the side table, seeming to be a type well-known by most residents of Georgia; the cornflower. It was a wildflower, most of the time growing along the sides of roads, and large spaces of empty meadows.

This never had taken away its beauty, though. Its bright violet hues matched my own aching palms and knees, and in a way, we were one. I felt just as delicate as its brittle stem. I felt as if my layers were peeling back, just as these petals were.

I looked back to the front of the bed. White blackout curtains covered the windows ahead, though bits of light still managed to peak through the edges. The room itself was nothing short of spotless. This place was tidy. It had clearly been attended to, and so had I.

Where was I? All I knew, was that this was not home. This was somewhere else, somewhere in between. Something like purgatory.

An odd state of purification.

I sat myself up fully, leaning my stiffened back against the pristine, fluffed, white pillows behind me. The needle felt tingly in my arm vein. The gown fastened over my body was made of a fabric that resembled a particular insulation in walls. The kind that looked like pink wool but felt like tiny shards of glass.

Even the calendar on the wall set me feeling off, the month being August, and the year being "2010".

The exact time where life as we knew it had come to a halt. When the talk of viral infections weren't just foreign stories anymore, but local news. Our government hadn't taken this threat seriously, thus leaving its citizens no time to prepare for the outbreak.

It had all happened so fast. I still remember the initial broadcast. There was no information apart from "an unknown threat", and to stay in your own homes. Despite this suggestion, my mother and I had immediately gone to stock up on food. The store was packed. People were fighting over items. There was yelling. Lots of it. We left empty handed after an elderly woman grabbed the last canned fruit straight from my hands.

This date I now currently looked at, had been an extreme amount of time ago—if not multiple years by now. Everybody who I had been with in August twenty-ten was gone now. What a peculiar realization.

The sounds of ticking filled my eardrums again, driving me into further discomfort while I looked to the telephone on the side table.

Where was I? I pushed, yet couldn't find an answer. Yes, it was apparent I was in some kind of medical center, but why?

Searching for a plausible answer, my mind raced faster than the delicate clock noises. My memory felt wiped clean. Like somebody had taken a bucket of bleach and scrubbed at my thoughts until they no longer existed. I felt a dent in my chest, a place where there should be pain from what I had gone through. . .but it too was empty.

It was almost a nice feeling. Oblivion. All I knew was that I didn't know what I was supposed to know. Something about that, momentarily, felt freeing.

I tried to put all the pieces together, half-thoughts being combined together at once. Had I been in a coma? Was everything only a bad dream? Is that why I couldn't remember? Was my dream simply fading away at the touch of my consciousness?

My fingers fell to the phone, beginning to dial a set of numbers on this machine out of muscle memory, pressing the large dial button in the middle as I brought it up to my ear. If anyone were to ask me who's it was, I'd be unable to answer. I only knew it was important, something I had memorized from a long time ago.

The line rang for a split second, before cutting off. I carefully put it back into the stand. Pulling at the tucked sheet, I unsteadily peeled myself from the bed. I hadn't remembered an IV was attached to me, and as I stepped forward, it brought the metal stand to the ground with a loud clatter. The tube yanked itself from my arm, and I grit my teeth at the unwelcome sensation.

Now unhooked, I pulled apart the curtains. My pupils instantly dilated at the bright lights, focusing on the city ahead. More accurately, the remains of the city. The buildings were consumed in black shadows the fires had left. Rubble paved the empty streets. It was clear death had struck down on this place.

I came to terms with my situation. I hadn't been dreaming. It was here, right in front of me. That same dent in my chest was now heavy with burden. My innocence was once again lost. This was real life. Hell was reality.

Footsteps. They rapidly approached this room. Each step grew increasingly louder as I hurriedly went to pick up the ceramic vase. I dumped the contents onto the floor, the water and flowers splattering onto the tiles as I pressed my back into the wall. When I registered the door coming to an open, I held onto the decor tighter, and raised my arm to strike.

I turned the corner. A gun was in my face. I had no time to attack. A man was standing beside me, dressed down in an officer uniform.

"Not so fast, sweetheart." He smiled, giving me a condescending look directly after.

I wasn't fucking with this guy. Not in my strappy gown that would most definitely slide off my back if I took one wrong step at him. Out of all the things I could have been afraid of, indecency was currently top on my list. I placed the vase back onto the table.

"They're nice, ain't they?" He looked to the vase, then the flowers on the floor. "It's a shame."

He now holstered his weapon. He took on a stance that could only be described as cocky. His eyes wandered me like the dead's gaze upon the living. He seemed as if he had the smallest inclination to do just as the walkers did — to tear me apart. Something reflecting in his retina told me that he was hungry.

"Put them here myself. Was supposed to be a welcome gift."

I looked to his name tag. Gorman.

"Found em' just a few steps from where we found you." He continued, taking a step closer.

I swallowed. "Where did you find me, exactly? I don't remember much."

He brought his weight to his front foot. "I'm sure you don't. You took a tumble near the road. You're lucky I took a detour. . .saw you fall."

I didn't remember almost anything between being in the church, eating supper, and waking up here. Every-time I thought about it, hot lightning rang through my brain. Only now did I realize that there had been a car. A car with a medical symbol on it. Then its red brake lights as it came to a sudden stop.

"Did you knock me down?" I asked, fear choking my throat up.

His forced smile dropped. "Course not."

Liar.

I blankly stared at this Gorman. "Where am I?"

He let his hands rest on his leather belt.

"Grady Memorial, Atlanta."

I felt my heart dip. This wasn't where I was supposed to be. "Why?"

"We fixed you up." He now gave me another grin. "That means you owe us. Everything costs something."

That sentence sounded eerily like the prior healthcare system in the states.

"Owe you?" I scoffed. "I never asked for this. You should have kept driving and left me the hell alone."

His face contorted into something frightening. He was inches from me now, leaning down to come face to face with me. "When someone saves you, it's a courtesy to show appreciation."

Quickly, I remembered how it felt for a man to be much too close for comfort. How it felt, for their hands to overstep my boundaries. Acts of pure disregard for the person I was, and only for the things I had to offer them. 

That night on the road, when I had been dragged from the car. When I had been shoved onto the gravel and a man had shouted that he 'claimed' me. His hands. His disgusting hands.

I didn't want to feel like that again, ever.

"You're right." I corrected myself, tears on the brink of leaving my eyes. "Thanks for saving me. And for the flowers."

He nodded, his attention breaking from me, to the creaking door. A taller man with browned hair stood across from Gorman. Thick glasses framed his face, and he wore a white jacket that let me know he was some kind of medical help.

Unless he was only pretending, of course. Everyone seemed to wear uniforms. Gorman, in his police officer attire, and now this stranger in a doctor's coat. It felt like a silly game of dress up. This wasn't the real world. This was a place of pretend.

"Gorman, Dawn asked me to take her for the day. Show her the ropes, and her job."

Gorman backed away from me. "She's been assigned to me, Dawn knows it."

The doctor shook his head. "She said we need one more in Medical. I've gone through the list, and she seems the most able bodied."

Able bodied. I was hunched over like a grandma whose spine was fusing together. My stance was teetering. I wouldn't be winning any gold medals for the balance beam. Something was wrong with my head—like I had spent several nights without any rest, and I was forgetting the world. 

The two men looked at each-other. It wasn't a pleasant exchange. Each pair of eyes spoke hatred at the other. Not even Carl and I had looked at one another with that much disgust.

Carl. . .

The others. . .

I attempted to think about them—about the events before I had been rendered unconscious. Shock waves seared my mind once again. I'd gone outside while the group was finishing up their dinners. The reason? I couldn't quite remember.

There were flashes of the candlelight against the stained glass. Tara, asking me if I had my weapon. Carl glancing my way as I walked out the double doors. The cold air hissing against my face colored with warmth. An IPod in the dirt.

Then Gareth. My breath, uneven. Running. The Grady car.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be." The 'Doctor'  brought me from my hazed state. "Whatever Dawn says, goes. You know that better than anyone."

"She was gonna' help Smith with morning rooftop watch." Gorman protested.

The doctors face flattened. "Just morning watch? That's a whole lot of free time for one girl."

"I have plans to keep her busy." The officer stated, his patience clearly thinning as the conversation went on. "She wont have any more free time than the others."

"Like Joan?" His obvious opponent flatly asked. It sounded more like an accusation than a question. "See—you have her on cleaning duty—but that finishes up in the afternoon. She's never walking the halls afterward, working any other job. It makes me wonder what you have her doing for the other half of the day."

A dark grimace crossed the cops face. "Joan doesn't concern you. She serves her purpose. Stay out of it."

The doctor walked forward. He took ahold of me like he was saving me from a burning building. I could do nothing but look back and forth between these men. Gorman didn't reach for me, yet still I felt like an object in their game of tug-o-war.

As he began leading me out, he turned once more to Gorman. "She serves her purpose, or she serves you?"

The door creaked on its hinges, then shut audibly behind us. It was just the doctor and I in the hallway. The lights seemed to flick briefly in the wake of the barrier slamming behind us.

"That's Gorman." The unnamed man told me. He then led us down the walkway. "No, he isn't having a bad day. That's how he is everyday."

My fingers tried to fiddle with the ring that was always placed on my finger, yet grasped onto nothing as my fingertips met bare skin. I put my hands back down by my side, and kept up the quick pace.

He continued, noting my choice to not speak back. "You may be assigned to him, but that doesn't mean you have to see much of him. Pick up all the extra work you can. Return to your room only after eleven."

"Are those the rules?" I finally spoke up, the effort slightly difficult as we strode on. "I can only sleep then?"

He glanced at me, realizing he was still holding onto my arm. He dropped it in an according manner.

"They aren't rules." He replied, stopping us. "Those will come later. These are my informal suggestions."

My face contorted into a look of confusion. He seemed to note it, but he did not elaborate in the way I hoped he would've. He only offered his hand in greeting.

"I'm Doctor Steven Edwards." He introduced himself. "Can you remember who you are?"

"My name is Cyn." I shook his hand. "Who's Joan?"

He firmed his jaw, eyes glued to his feet. "A patient."

That wasn't enough. There was more. I could tell by his demeanor. "Why did you bring her up? What does Gorman have to do with her?"

"She's assigned to him. . ." Edwards seemed to be trying to find the right words. "Things got bad for her. She tried to run. Got bit on her way out. She's alive — but has only one arm. Won't ever make it out of here."

"What do you mean things got bad for her?" I asked. "And how does one make it out of here?"

He sighed. "I don't know what went down between Joan and Gorman."

Liar.

I could tell by the way his eyes danced. This hospital was full of people who kept the truth to themselves. What this man was withholding—I wasn't sure of.

"As for leaving," The Doctor added, "You pay what you owe through work. When we decide you've fulfilled your obligation, you can go."

He now continued to lead us. We passed room after room. Only once we came close to a room labeled 'storage', did we stop.

"What about Dawn?" I asked, watching as one of the patients across from us closed their blinds that pointed out toward the hallway.

He gave me a small smile as he opened the door. "She runs everything. She's an officer, like Gorman. But she's respected. You'll respect her too, if you want to get out of here fast."

When the door was fully pushed back, I took in the sight of a boy. Maybe older than me by a couple years. He was surrounded by shelves of folded laundry, and he was working hard at pressing a pair of blue scrubs. The iron sizzled at his movement.

"You must have a lot more questions," Edwards spoke, gesturing me closer to this stranger. "This is Noah. He can help you understand this place a bit better."

The Doctor now motioned at me. "Noah, this is Cyn, one of our new admits. She'll shadow you today to get an idea of her job. Show her the ropes—and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Noah nodded, and with that, the door was shut behind us. It was silent for a while. The only sounds being the iron, and my own breathing. My eyes darted around the room, my arms folding into myself as I shuffled my feet. When I glanced up to the boy, Noah, he offered a smile. It eased me.

It was the first and only sincere gesture I had been given since arriving here.

"Being new is the worst." Noah said, moving onto the next pair of pants.

I blinked. "I'll be alright. I don't plan on staying long."

He looked up at me. His expression was full of sorrow, despite his previous welcoming smile. It was the deepest look of pity I had ever been given.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you," He now continued ironing, "but I'm not sure I've ever seen someone leave. "They say you have a debt to pay, but the debt only grows deeper. They count each bite of food you take. Every pair of clean clothes. Sometimes it even seems like they want you to pay back to air you breathe."

I swallowed the burning lump in my throat. "Then I won't take anything."

Noah's look softened. "I thought the same as you when I got here. No matter how much I contributed and how little I accepted, it didn't matter. I've been here about a year now."

This stranger completely threw me for a loop. Despite the awful news he had just delivered to me, I could only focus on the fact that everyone else was playing at a game here. Noah might have been a pawn, but it did not seem to be accepted by him. He was unwilling. And truthful. He was real.

"Why are you telling me this?"

The hot metal he held steamed. "I overheard that Gorman is in charge of you."

I nodded. "Whatever that means."

"It means he has authority over you, and his word is law." Noah lowered his voice, like he was afraid who would overhear us. "Do you know what he does? What he'll do to you, if you aren't careful?"

I could taste the blood from my chewed lip. "Edwards didn't directly tell me. But. . . I think I understand."

Noah appeared visibly disturbed. "Everyone looks past it. It's only getting worse. And Dawn lets it. That's why I'm leaving when the times right."

"You said you've been here a year? Why haven't you tried?" I questioned.

He stopped his task, pulling up his uniform to the top of his knee. This revealed an extremely large laceration starting at his ankle, which stopped right at his lower thigh. The sight brought weight upon my chest, almost a sickening feeling. Like watching someone get hurt.

I was suprised he hadn't died from the infection alone. Then again, not too surprised. This must have been his debt. It must have been a huge one to repay.

"My dad and I got in a car wreck. That's how this happened. It's just barely healed, and even then, I still have a limp."

"I'm sorry." I told him, moving closer to get a better look at the injury. "That must be painful."

He was finally done pressing the uniforms. He was now folding the last of them, placing them in an intricate order on the shelves.

"It is." He gave me another smile. "And listen—after I watched them roll you into Gorman's wing, I knew things here had to change."

"Why? What do I have to do with that?" I sincerely questioned, now helping him clean up.

I folded the board, and unplugged the iron.

He frowned now. "I never did anything about Joan. This is my second chance to make things better."

I tilted my head. "What are you taking a chance on?"

Twisting the bag of dirty uniforms, I placed them down the laundry chute.

"You'll see." He promised, taking a lollipop from his pocket, of all things, and handing it to me. "You just have to hold on for a little. Can you do that?"

I accepted the small token, slipping it into my own pocket. I felt the weight of it there, and the fear bubbling between my ribs subsided ever so slightly.

"I can do that."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
3, 970 words • 4:15 am

oh boy.

thank you all so much for getting my book to #1 in "twd". i was almost 100% sure it had to be a glitch or a prank, and was at a complete loss for words for the longest timeee.

also bro, all your guys' comments just make my day sm brighter, and reading all the jokes has me wheezing for way too long. please keep it upppp and fuel my serotonin!!

sincerely yours,
nika.