I awaken, a stark white sheet draped over my face, the chill of reality crashing against the warmth of my subconscious. With a heavy sense of dread, my gaze sweeps down my body, and a jolt of panic courses through me. I'm completely undressed, exposed to the unyielding air of the sterile room. My stomach, a patchwork of stitches and bruises, tells the tale of the violent accident that has left me feeling both vulnerable and terrified.
Bolting upright, I yank the sheet from my face, the fear building in my chest. I glance around, disoriented, and quickly realise I'm crammed inside a metal drawer in a morgue—a sight that chills me to my core.
"Get me out of here!" I scream, my voice echoing off the cold, hard surfaces as I pound my fists against the metal door looming over me, desperate for escape. An eerie silence fills the room, amplifying my growing panic. I strike the door harder, adrenaline surging with each blow, until suddenly, it swings open.
A man pulls me out and stands before me, his expression a haunting mix of shock and horror. The colour drains from his face, rendering him ghostly pale as he stares at me, frozen in disbelief. His mouth moves, but no words emerge, as if he's staring at some sort of apparition.
"Hospitals don't mess up!" I shout, my voice laced with urgency as I sit up on the table, desperate for answers. I meet the eyes of the man, demanding comprehension of this surreal situation.
"You… you… were dead," he stutters, disbelief etched across his features.
"How can I be dead if I'm sitting here talking to you?" I retort, frustration rising within me.
Just then, a woman enters the room, nonchalantly strolling towards us, seemingly oblivious to the extraordinary scene unfolding in front of her. She's youthful, with a cascade of blonde hair neatly tied back, her bare face showcasing her age. When she catches sight of us, though, her lunch tumbles from her hands, crashing to the floor. She gasps in horror, stepping back as if she's seen a ghost herself.
"Tell me I'm dreaming!" she murmurs, inching closer with wide, incredulous eyes.
"Call management in the office and get his files," the man orders, urgency punctuating his tone. "Yeah, sure." The woman rushes out, her footsteps echoing down the corridor like a frantic heartbeat, while the man scurries to the desk phone.
Silence envelops me as I sit still, the sterile environment prickling my skin. I glance down, catching sight of a tag affixed to my toe. I scan the room, my eyes landing on a body laid out on a nearby table, prepared for an autopsy. This visual begins to haunt me, and fear clenches my body as I lean over to read the tag.
Name: Eden Farnworth
D.O.B: 23/3/2002
Date of Death: 06/7/2020
Cause of Death: Severe Internal Bleeding/Impalement.
I crumble internally. This can't be right. I should be dead, a chilling realisation sinking in. How is it possible that I'm alive? I look around once more, steeling myself as I push myself up from the cold metal trolley, the sheet clutched tightly around my waist. I stare at the morgue worker.
"If thats my dad please, get me some clothes… everything," I implore.
"He's asked if you can bring him clothes too. Ok, see you soon, bye," he relays into the phone, his voice trailing off as he finishes the call.
"So… what date is it?" I ask, swallowing hard.
"9th July. It's Monday," he replies, barely concealing the shock in his voice.
"I've missed three days of my new job," I grumble, frustration boiling beneath the surface.
"You were dead, Eden!" he insists, a note of disbelief lacing his words.
"Dead people don't come back to life! Someone has messed up! I was probably in a coma!" I snap, my composure fraying.
I stride over to a chair by the desk and plop down, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the accident. I start to remember how I was engulfed in pain, unable to feel anything below my waist. Now, miraculously, I can walk and move without pain. I cast a look at my abdomen; the angry bruise and stitched wound tell a surreal story. How did I end up at the hospital? Why can't I remember everything?
"Let me check your pulse," the man, Will, says as he approaches me cautiously.
Confused, I extend my arm. I already feel breathless and panicked — wasn't that enough proof I was alive? Yet the uncertainty lingers in the air between us.
"I want to check if you have one," he answers, gently taking my hand and flipping it over. He places his fingers on my inner wrist, his brow furrowing in concentration. Moments tick by as he adjusts his grip, pressing down gently, then suddenly he stops.
"That's it, I'm done," he bursts out, storming toward the door, leaving me bewildered.
"What? I must have a pulse!" I shout after him, feelings of panic stirring inside me.
The door swings open, and my dad and Millie rush in. Will hesitates, glancing back at me, then at them, before brushing past and leaving the room.
"Eden!" Millie exclaims, her voice full of disbelief and joy as she rushes to my side.
"I... can't believe it…" my dad gasps, his eyes wide as he cautiously steps closer. "How? We lost you in the car. The paramedics confirmed it."
"I don't know," I shrug helplessly, trying to make sense of it all.
"Well, I'm going to have to call your work and let them know," my dad says, sniffling slightly, a crack in his demeanor.
"Tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow," I interject quickly, wanting to assert some normality.
Yet, his response feels off, laced with something I can't quite grasp. He seems overwhelmed, devoid of the joy I expected, a shadow crossing his features as if he's lost some part of our connection.
"Dad?" I call after him as he pulls out his phone, his back turned to me.
"Yeah?" he replies without turning around.
"Are you okay with me?" I question, concern bubbling up inside.
"Yeah, I'm just overwhelmed, that's all," he mumbles, retreating from the morgue to make his phone call.
I nod slowly, uncertainty swirling in my mind. Gathering my clothes from Millie, I walk toward the office room, shutting the door behind me.
My hands tremble as I begin to pull the clothes on, another human instinct my body stubbornly clings to — even when it shouldn't be possible. The sensation of fabric against my skin grounding me. I quickly dress, pulling on boxers and socks then the joggers and T-shirt before opening the door once more.
My dad stands speaking with Will and another staff member, their expressions serious. I can't hear what they're saying. I wander over curiously.
"Is everything okay?" I ask as I approach them, anxiety pooling in my stomach
"We can't apologize enough for the terrible mistake that…" he begins, but I can hardly process his words, my thoughts lost in the overwhelming reality of my existence. Everything becomes muffled.
"What aren't they telling me? Will changed when I walked over..." I think to myself.