Agony stabs my eyes, twisting like the blade of a knife.
There is a metallic, bitter taste under my tongue. I cough.
'She's coming around.'
A male voice. Who?
I try to open my eyes, but they burn as if the sun has fallen from the sky. I groan.
'Kyla?' A hand touches mine. Amy.
'Turn out the lights,' she says. The light drops, and I squint between my lids.
'There you are,' she says, and smiles.
I'm on the floor. I try to sit up.
'Don't move yet,' the male voice says again, and I turn my eyes to the source. A paramedic? And another. Mum, white-faced, stands in the doorway.
They lift me back into bed while Amy holds up an IV bag. One of them fixes it up, the other injects something into it and warmth slides into my veins, starts to take the pain away. My eyes close.
Voices mix and fade.
A nightmare did that? Disbelief.
She could have died...
Keep in bed for a day or two...
Pain management...
If Amy hadn't woken when she hit the floor, she would have died...
Last Chance.
YOU ARE READING
Slated
Science FictionKyla's memory has been erased, her personality wiped blank, her memories lost forever. She has been Slated. The government claims she was a terror...
