#devinderian

by Devin Derian

A piercing noise causes my eyes to shoot open. My retinas burn from the blinding white lights, and there’s a sharp pain around my ribs. The middle of my back aches, and there’s a vein in my throat that beats in unison with my heart. I slowly raise my left arm, but as I do, a shooting pain spirals down my elbow. My eyes finally adjust to the lights, and reveal a completely white hospital room. To my right are multiple monitors, and a transparent tube that’s connected to my right forearm.   

Turning my neck to my left, I see my Aunt’s hazel eyes glaring at me. There’s a pounding against my temples, and my sinuses feel like somebody’s pressing their thumbs against the ridge of my nose. She opens her mouth, but the blue door at the other side of the room swings open. An Ash officer appears in his crimson suit, black pants, and black shoes. His eyes are dark purple and his black hair is slicked back.

“I need to speak to Liam,” says the officer.  

“While I’m here, of course,” Aunt Vickie responds, squeezing the edges of her tablet.

“I just need Liam,”

“I’m his guardian—” says my aunt, walking up to him, her black heels clicking against the white floor. The guard backhands my Aunt across the face. Her head jolts to the left, and her hand instantly grasps her lip.

“Remember your place, Doctor,” says the Ash Officer in a deep monotone. A stream of blood oozes through my aunt’s fingers. My stomach jitters and my fingers press against my damp palms.

“Of course,” says my Aunt, her finger wiping across her lip. She looks at me. The noise from the heart rate monitor slows. Vickie puts her hand gently against the door, and a green light illuminates underneath her fingers. The door slides open and she leaves.

My chest feels compressed. The heart monitor spikes, and the breeze from the air conditioning cools my wet forehead. The Ash Officer walks to the foot of my bed.

“Are you aware of the number of people that survived the accident?” asks the Officer, circling his fingers around a silver bar.

“No, sir,” I say, my tongue pressed against the roof of my dry mouth.

“Six,” he says, “and of those six, you appear to be the least injured.”

“I got lucky,” I say, a sharp pain prickling hurts my temples.

“It’s quite a miracle that you noticed the bomb.”

My eyes widen. “How do you know—”

Before I can finish, the Officer lets go of the bar and walks to my left. He pulls up his sleeve, and touches his temple. His irises change from dark purple to light pink. His chip illuminates on his forearm, and a holographic screen rises. 

On the screen, I see myself walk towards the metro’s door, and as the explosion happens in the video, a sharp pain radiates from my ribs. 

“Is that not you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

A pounding sensation slams against my temples. “Are you suggesting that I somehow knew that the bomb was going to be there? If that’s the case, it was just a coincidence,” I say through my teeth.

“I was not trained to believe in coincidence.” 

The drumming in my temples intensifies.

“Is that not you approaching the door?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you aware of the town square bombing that occurred three weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know who set the bomb?”

“No sir.”

The image on the pink screen shifts to a dark hooded figure placing a bomb next to a fountain and scattering away. People walk by in their white outfits, and then the image goes black. He places his fingers near the hologram and turns it counter clockwise to rewind the footage. He stops at a pixelated image of the figure. 

My eyes widen when I see the pixelated image, and Jax’s face appears. 

“Do you know Jax Jacobs?”

“Yes, sir. We are good friends.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Two friends who happen to be involved in two terrorist attacks?”

“Once again, coincidence,”  I say, my head continuing to throb. The Ash Officer places his pale hand on my shoulder; it’s cold.

by Devin Derian 

A piercing noise causes my eyes to shoot open. My retinas burn from the blinding white lights, and there’s a sharp pain around my ribs. The middle of my back aches, and there’s a vein in my throat that beats in unison with my heart. I slowly raise my left arm, but as I do, a shooting pain spirals down my elbow. My eyes finally adjust to the lights, and reveal a completely white hospital room. To my right are multiple monitors, and a transparent tube that’s connected to my right forearm.   

Turning my neck to my left, I see my Aunt’s hazel eyes glaring at me. There’s a pounding against my temples, and my sinuses feel like somebody’s pressing their thumbs against the ridge of my nose. She opens her mouth, but the blue door at the other side of the room swings open. An Ash officer appears in his crimson suit, black pants, and black shoes. His eyes are dark purple and his black hair is slicked back.

“I need to speak to Liam,” says the officer.  

“While I’m here, of course,” Aunt Vickie responds, squeezing the edges of her tablet.

“I just need Liam,”

“I’m his guardian—” says my aunt, walking up to him, her black heels clicking against the white floor. The guard backhands my Aunt across the face. Her head jolts to the left, and her hand instantly grasps her lip.

“Remember your place, Doctor,” says the Ash Officer in a deep monotone. A stream of blood oozes through my aunt’s fingers. My stomach jitters and my fingers press against my damp palms.

“Of course,” says my Aunt, her finger wiping across her lip. She looks at me. The noise from the heart rate monitor slows. Vickie puts her hand gently against the door, and a green light illuminates underneath her fingers. The door slides open and she leaves.

My chest feels compressed. The heart monitor spikes, and the breeze from the air conditioning cools my wet forehead. The Ash Officer walks to the foot of my bed.

“Are you aware of the number of people that survived the accident?” asks the Officer, circling his fingers around a silver bar.

“No, sir,” I say, my tongue pressed against the roof of my dry mouth.

“Six,” he says, “and of those six, you appear to be the least injured.”

“I got lucky,” I say, a sharp pain prickling hurts my temples.

“It’s quite a miracle that you noticed the bomb.”

My eyes widen. “How do you know—”

Before I can finish, the Officer lets go of the bar and walks to my left. He pulls up his sleeve, and touches his temple. His irises change from dark purple to light pink. His chip illuminates on his forearm, and a holographic screen rises. 

On the screen, I see myself walk towards the metro’s door, and as the explosion happens in the video, a sharp pain radiates from my ribs. 

“Is that not you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

A pounding sensation slams against my temples. “Are you suggesting that I somehow knew that the bomb was going to be there? If that’s the case, it was just a coincidence,” I say through my teeth.

“I was not trained to believe in coincidence.” 

The drumming in my temples intensifies.

“Is that not you approaching the door?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you aware of the town square bombing that occurred three weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know who set the bomb?”

“No sir.”

The image on the pink screen shifts to a dark hooded figure placing a bomb next to a fountain and scattering away. People walk by in their white outfits, and then the image goes black. He places his fingers near the hologram and turns it counter clockwise to rewind the footage. He stops at a pixelated image of the figure. 

My eyes widen when I see the pixelated image, and Jax’s face appears. 

“Do you know Jax Jacobs?”

“Yes, sir. We are good friends.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Two friends who happen to be involved in two terrorist attacks?”

“Once again, coincidence,”  I say, my head continuing to throb. The Ash Officer places his pale hand on my shoulder; it’s cold.