Project Excessus

Part I, Chapter I

Opening my eyes, I immediately shut them. The light was blinding. Slowly, I opened them again. A pure white ceiling greeted me in return.

Where was I? This didn’t make sense. I should have heard a beeping if I was in the hospital, or I should have been in heaven if I was dead. Maybe this was heaven . . . .

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I stretched, feeling very well rested. I looked around to see a room with perfect white walls and floors. The bed I was sitting on wrinkled loudly as I moved around, echoing in the small, silent room.

A scratchy thin sheet was pulled over my lap to administer little protection. A light blue hospital gown wrapped around my body, providing me with no warmth, and I expected gooseflesh to rise on my skin at the cold temperature of the room.

My skin remained smooth.

Soon realizing that I was hooked up to an IV, I began to panic. The needle seemed to be placed strategically as if it were connected to a weakness in my skin. As if that was the only point it would pierce.

I heard footsteps echo on tiled floor, and they began to approach the door to my room. A male, older doctor in a white jacket came in, carrying a clipboard.

“Um, excuse me,” I said after clearing my throat. It was surprisingly easy to speak, though I truly would have expected a scratchiness in my voice. The doctor looked up, then dropped his clipboard. His silver eyes filled with shock, then panic and fear mixed together in a bittersweet harmony.

He turned on his heel and ran out of the room. I sighed, leaning back against the wall.

A few minutes later, more footsteps neared. This time it seemed as though there were many more feet emanating the sound.

“I didn’t know it was possible,” one of them was saying.

“How could she come back?” another questioned.

What did they mean? Come back from what? And was that ‘she’ myself? I sighed heavily again. The door opened, and about six doctors walked in.

“Lydia?” one of them asked. The doctor who had come in earlier.

“Yes?” I replied, utterly confused.

“How are-” he stopped himself, then paused. “Is that really you?” he questioned. My eyebrows knitted together but I nodded nonetheless.

“That is impossible . . .” another doctor trailed off; a young woman.

“What is impossible?” I asked, confused as I flicked my eyes over to her. There was a moment of awkward and uncomfortable silence, as if nobody wanted to answer me. As if they had to risk their lives to answer me.

“You are dead,” one of them finally choked out. Blunt, I thought sarcastically to myself.

“I am . . . what?” I asked imprudently. They had me at a complete loss.

“You died,” he said. “In a car accident. It was raining one night and your car spun off the road, then flipped several times. You were killed on impact, due to a severe head injury.”

I instinctively brought my hand up and searched my head, trying to find a bump or a cut. My fingers grazed over a long line of skin that was puckered just a millimeter or two higher than the rest of a skin. I assumed it to be a scar. Other than that, I found no evidence of injury.

“Your heart no longer beats,” he continued. “Your bones . . . now consist of metal. You . . . you no longer have the need to breathe, or eat, or even rest.”

Chills ran up and down my spine.

“How are my bones . . . m- metal?” I stuttered.

“It is a complicated process,” he answered, his face becoming animated. “We injected some elements and chemicals into the bone marrow, and they slowly transformed over a long period of time.”