Synthemia

My eyes snap open to the bright light, which blinds me. It takes me a moment to adjust to the light and take my bearings.

I am lying in a room that is painted white; in fact, everything in the room is white, too white: the furniture, the ceiling, and the walls. The color makes me feel lifeless.

And then suddenly I realise I am lying on a hospital bed. My wrist stings from the needle that was pushed inside it. Beside me, a heart monitor beeps steadily—each sound slicing through the silence like a countdown I don’t understand. But it’s not just the room that’s wrong. Everything is.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t even know who I am.

Panic claws on my insides, and I am about to start screaming for someone when my eyes fall on the boy who is sitting on the sofa in front of me.

The boy’s head is lowered. He doesn’t look any older than sixteen. He has light brown hair that is swept to one side and seems not to have been combed for a while. His eyes are closed, which means he is sleeping. I can hear the boy’s breath, which is even and relaxed. I try getting up and asking the boy something, but I groan and realise that my side aches.

The boy’s eyes fly open. They are blue. As soon as he notices that I am awake, he gets up and sighs.

With relief.

And that doesn’t make sense to me.

“So you’re finally awake?”, he asks, smiling and sitting on the edge of the bed.

But instead of smiling back at him, I raise my eyebrows.

“Finally?”, I ask. “What do you mean. How long have I been out?”

“Lost count”, he says, smiling weakly. “More than fifteen days, though.”

My eyes widen. Fifteen days? That sounds like a huge number. But I have more important questions for now.

“Who am I?”, I ask.

For a moment, the boy is lost in thought, then he finally speaks up.

“What do you think is your name?”, he asks.

I think for a moment, but nothing comes to my mind. The boy’s face is familiar, but then again, nothing specific comes to me, like a memory. I can only remember glimpses.

Destruction.

Friends.

Death.

Betrayal.

I feel frustrated. The memories are all incomplete. The thought makes me want to punch whoever did this to me, but well, what if this had happened to me by my own choice?

Then out of nowhere, in particular the first few letter of my name comes out of my mouth.

“Sie…”, I say.

The boy smiles and raises his eyebrows as if expecting the full name, but I shake my head.

“Sieline”, he says. “You’re Sieline Thorne.”