Join Date: February 22, 2006
Re: Womb's Purgatory
A sharp pinch on the bottom of his wrist snapped him awake, his eyes opening at last. His pupils shrank instantly, the brightness stinging his retinas like acid. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out all the light. Another pinch, and a male voice grunted, â€œGot the blood sample.â€
Blood sample? What did that mean? None of the voices made sense to him at the time. It was all gibberish. He wanted them to go away; he was getting a headache.
A rubbery hand lifted up his eyelid, to his displeasure, and shined a small light right into his pupil. He wanted to blink away the discomfort, but the fingers of this strange woman with a type of scarf over her mouth wouldnâ€™t let him. Tears collected in his eyes, and she finally let go. Firmly he kept his eyes shut.
â€œEyes are normal. Better than normal, actually,â€ a female voice said. What were they talking about?
â€œThatâ€™s enough for now,â€ an older, masculine voice interjected. â€œShower him off and get him dressed.â€ The patient opened his eyes and looked at himself. He was naked, covered in grimy, clear liquid. He didnâ€™t care, though. Gymnophobia, nor anything else, mattered to him now.
He was moving again. It felt like floating. Strangely, it was blissful and he was almost asleep in a minute until they stopped and rubbery hands groped at his arms and legs, forcing him to stand. His knees nearly bucked- how long ago were they last used? Two hands- one on each arm- pulled him gently along, and he shakily followed their lead. The floor was cold and wet here. He didnâ€™t know what anything looked like because his eyes still hadnâ€™t adjusted, veiled by his eyelids.
The hands stopped pulling him, and he groggily kept his balance. Something hissed above him and it started to rainâ€¦
He jumped. The water was freezing, but as he was held under the shower the water grew to a lukewarm temperature. The rain died out, and he began to hug himself, shivering. A soft, fluffy something began to work its way around his body- his hair, down to his back and chest. It slid all around him, and he was dry.
Bravely he opened his left eye, letting in a small slit of light. It was still bright, and he saw a man totally covered in white, even on his hands and across the bottom half of his face. He was struggling with an orange sheet, managing to open up a hole into it. Without warning, he pushed it over the patientâ€™s head.
The boy struggled, trying to lift it off, but the hands fought him and guided his arms through more holes. The figures clad in white pulled the orange sheet down, and it seemed to envelope him. He stole a glance at himself- it was a very baggy gown. The cloth was papery, each movement making more wrinkles.
Two hands on his shoulder pushed him into a sitting position. This seat was softer, but the armrests were cold metal. He kept his hands on his lap as he once more seemed to float around. Maybe this was heaven. Everything was white. Perhaps he was floating on clouds, being cared for by angels.
The floating slowly stopped and he heard a creak. He opened his eyes to see a large black door swing open. He froze. This couldnâ€™t be heaven. In heaven, they wouldnâ€™t lock him up. He expected to be suddenly thrown into flames.
He was thrown, but not into flames- onto a hard, dark floor. He curled up as the door swung shut again- and locked. He opened his eyes, looking up. The darkness of this room didnâ€™t hurt his eyes, but they were still heavy from fatigue.
Only a beam of white from the doorâ€™s window lit up the room. There was a shallow bowl attached to the wall he guessed was a toiletâ€¦
Everything was coming back to him. This wasnâ€™t anywhere ethereal. It was some sort of prison. He was alive. He just didnâ€™t know who he was, or where he was, or why any of this was happening.
He curled his legs into his chest and began to rock. A black smear on his left forearm caught his eye. He put his arm into the light. It wasnâ€™t a smear- it was a line of symbols. It read: 37266MDP0.
Surely that wasnâ€™t his name. He didnâ€™t even know how to say it. His fingers stroked the tattoo, like it would give him answers. Then the three penultimate symbols began to make sense to him. MDP. Was that an abbreviation?
Mâ€¦ that was his name. Of course there was more. D and P were also part of his name. Now he knew there was something before he ended up here, in this cell, in this prison. In that womb.
That was his name! Micah Daniel Pomeroy. He lived in an orphanage his whole life, untilâ€¦
He froze. Until the day six other children and him were loaded into a black van and drugged. That was his last memory.
Micah was only thirteen years old when that took place, in the year 2099. Seeing himself now, he knew he had to be older. At least two years older.
What was going on!?