I woke up and before I even looked at the clock your face hit my mind. Your face reminded me of how great my life was going and how much I had going for me. Then one day I woke up and you still hit my mind. But this time you hit it like a bullet. You were no longer showing me how great my life was. You were showing me how quick people leave.

– Anonymous Internet user

“And you understand and acknowledge that your being here is completely of your own accord and The Institute cannot be held accountable?”

I looked up at the portly, round face in front of me. Glasses, baby face, and as business-like as could be. I took in the rest of the room, with its ghostly white walls, floor, and ceiling; then noticed the single fogged-up mirror on the wall, almost certainly a one-way mirror for spectators of some kind. I turned my attention to it and nodded pointedly to whoever was on the other side.

“Vocalize please,” the man said, standing in front of me at a table with an odd-looking box on it.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Confirmed,” the man said matter-of-factly, and then immediately began to strap me in.

It’s different actually being in a room like this than it appears in the movies. Courage is much harder to come by. I felt the seatbelt strap me in, and suddenly felt my heart move firmly up into my throat.

Useless organ, the heart.

I shot a quick glance at my armrests, noticing the lack of straps there. Atleast both my hands will be free, I thought, in case things get really ugly.

“Shirt off,” I heard the man in front of me unconsciously bark.

I reached around my waist and hoisted my thin tee over my head and shoulders. Despite there being only two of us, the room went eerily silent.

I looked around to see the rotund man in front of me not-so-subtly take me in. His eyes darted to the one-way mirror, and mine naturally followed. I caught sight of myself and understood.

The reflection, looking curiously back at me, was that of a man in his twenties. He had short black hair, inquisitive green eyes, and no spare flesh on him. I flexed for good measure and watched the muscles ripple through me. I managed a small laugh to myself and shot a little wink in the direction of my gaze, this time sending it past my reflection to the onlookers on the other side.

“Please focus.”

I bit my lip and settled back into the chair, readying myself.

“Sorry,” I said, savoring my momentary glimmer of bravado.

“You are here today to take part in Dr. Kimberly E. Mathur’s healing sounds therapy, a procedure designed for individuals with ruptured psyches that lead to physical or psychological effects on the aorta – and its blood flow.”

I sat blankly. I knew what I was there for, but the way this man was explaining it I’d have never understood.

“We basically heal heart-break,” he paraphrased.

There it is, I thought.

“This procedure – pending government approval – boasts a 100% success rate. Your presence here serves to not only help us better understand our own mechanism, but also give you the necessary freedom you may require to continue with your own life uninhibited,” he said.

I moved to speak but no words came out. I managed a small nod instead, as the small box in front of me was switched on. The man in front of me suddenly felt far more menacing on the other side of this strange apparatus.

The whirring sound it created certainly did not instill confidence in me, nor did the ominous red glow emanating from it. I shot a look to the mirror, desperate to know what was going on.

I don’t know if it was that look that did it or if pity came from elsewhere, but the whirring instantly stopped and the red glow suddenly faded away.

The man looked back at me with what I could’ve sworn was annoyance, but was quickly masked with patience.

And my heart – my stupid heart – kept beating rapidly.

“This process is called healing sounds,” he explained slowly. “We apply the technology used in ultrasounds – sound waves rehabilitating torn and overused muscle and ligaments – to one of the more important organs of the body. The cream used – or ointment, if you will – is an invention of the Institute and the entire procedure is completely safe. There will be a little pain, but that is only your body adapting to its new state of being.”

I smiled, not meaning it.

“Think of it as rehabilitation,” he said, smiling back. “A little bit of work for a lifetime of peace.”

I nodded, scared-to-death. I looked to the mirror again, but it was clear by now that no external help was coming.

“Let’s do it,” I said, before my resolve could flicker again.

The man nodded and started up the machine once more. He took out his “ointment, if you will” and applied it to both his gloved hands. They hovered over my sternum for a moment, awaiting my approval.

I nodded, and in he went.

White light.

Blinding pain.

Screams and screams.

Oh hell no! My subconscious screamed. Fight, I thought. Fight this away!

I felt it eventually lift and looked up in desperate relief to see the same man standing over me. My arms were useless appendages by my side, clearly of zero use – unlike what I’d initially thought. I looked down at my bare body and saw a cloth on my chest, then looked back up at the man to see shock all over his face.

Clearly, this was not normal.

He stood up, likely readying himself for a new course of action – or perhaps he was even rethinking our entire procedure.

“No,” I said, before anything else could happen. “Go again.”

He hesitated a moment, then sat down again, reaching into his pocket and passing me a smooth cylinder of wood. I’d seen enough movies to know what this was for.

I removed its plastic cover and put the cylindrical piece of wood horizontally between my teeth. I nodded.

He went again.

I felt the pain crawl through my skin again at the touch of the cream on me. Clearly, this wasn’t even supposed to be the painful part, but I felt my arms become lifeless and my head roll uselessly towards the mirror. I looked into it.

She’s in there, I thought. I know it. She’s there.

With that, my resolve strengthened further.

The cream was now on and the ultrasound gun came out, closing in on my chest.

Tears began flowing unrelentingly. My blurred eyes turned towards the window. I felt my voice scream words my mind would’ve never allowed. It was the same one, over and over again: Please.

The harmless gun touched my chest and began moving itself around, my entire being writhing further away from consciousness.

Certain pains can only be imagined. The pain of a white-hot burn against an already broken heart is one such.

It refused to stop.

I’ve heard stories of entire lives flashing before people meet their demise. I did not receive such a luxury. I only saw my vision stretch from a comfortable peripheral to a scary blur to nothing but a pinhole view of the room I was once in. Only the ghostly white of the room was visible, though it felt impossibly far away.

And just when I thought I’d see no more, a woman burst in through that door of that far away room.

I felt the feeling of my own warm smile, but knew physical expressions were far beyond me now.

The woman knocked the gun and machine out of the man’s grasp as he forcibly mouthed Doctor Mathur! to her. I did my best to scream out to her as well.

Kim!

Vikram, she mouthed to me. Vikram!

Kim, I attempted to smile, but all the light had begun to suck itself firmly away from me. Kim!

Vikram! She was finally fighting for me!

This can’t be you, I thought. It’s part of the process.

Vikram! Vikram I’m sorry, please come back to me! I’m so sorry Vikram, I’m here now! I heard her yelling clearly, from more than a lifetime away.

You’re here! I tried to smile to her again. You’re actually here! It’s okay, Kim, everything’s okay now!

In the darkest of times, there are things that save you. I was sure this would be one of them. I had been okay with death before, but now that the woman I was trying to erase had actually returned to me in the flesh, I knew I needed to live.

I could only watch as the light sucked itself away from me though.

I was getting what I’d wanted. My love was here, and the pain was being erased.

I wish I could stay, I fought. I just want to stay!

But the light was filtering itself out of me, this time for good.

Author : Naren Weiss

Naren Weiss is a playwright whose work has been performed throughout India, Singapore, South Africa and the United States.