Ember

Ember (Story of an Ex-Superhero) -8-

The doctors hovered over her, plastic gloves coating their fingers that held empty syringes. They did not look into her eyes as they drew crimson blood from her veins. With their faces obscured with operation masks, they mumbled sentences to one another and Ember could barely hear them over the din of the operating light that hovered above her naked body. They hadn't bothered to give her something to cover up with, like she was merely a lab rat in a testing facility.

She watched as they dribbled droplets of blood on slides of glass and examined it underneath a microscope, speaking in excited whispers to one another. Ember was still bolted down to the operating table, and no matter how much she had tired, her powers did not come. She could feel it, the fulling flame beneath her skin, but it was trapped beneath the surface, as if her skin was a sheet of titanium, fire stirring behind it. Her adrenaline, however, was pumping madly, heart racing as if she had just ran a mile in the hot, desert sun. She would give anything, anything to escape this madness. It reminded her too much of those days when her powers refused to be in control, stuck in a hot, stuffy prison and unable to break free.

One of the doctors brought out a sharp, slender knife. She held her breath, bones stiff as marble as the knife came down on Embers stomach, the edge slicing lightly into her skin. Ember screamed so loud, the man holding the knife jumped back, dropping the knife onto the table, right near Embers fingers. As if by instinct, she wrapped her fingers around it and though she barely had enough room to hurt anyone with it, clenched it tight in her palm and vowed to herself that she was not going to let go.

A few doctors came over, trying to pry it from her grasp, but she twisted her fingers so the blade of the long knife sliced across a knuckle, all while Ember was screaming. She thrashed in the metal cuffs, tears flooding from her eyes, crying for mercy all until a needle pricked into her upper arm and after a few moments, Ember was lost.

No, she wasn't sedated, but thats all she could tell. The white ceiling swirled above her, mixing in with the harsh white light, into a sea of starchy brightness. Her body began to feel weightless, like she was floating in that strange sea, body drowning peacefully in whiteness.

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They finished the testing as her mind wandered through an alternate reality, not feeling the bite of their tools as they bled scarlet fuel from her body. Her blood was remarkable, hitched with her curious DNA that they would be sure to test later. They had chopped off her long locks as well, so that now it only came to her chin, and saved them in plastic containers for further inspection. They had taken tiny bits of her flesh from the backs of her knuckles and a bit from her stomach, wondering how it was able to conduct and withstand such heat. Ember was in pain, brilliant pain when the medication wore off and she could barely hold herself upright.

They had wanted to gather more testing material from her body, they had wanted more of her skin, her inner organs, her teeth, her mind, her eyes, but human rights agency had stepped in before the scientists had the chance to. That was, infact, where she was now. She had been swept away from that awful place and brought to the agency, telling her over and over again that it would be alright. That she would be fine.

Ember did not think she would feel fine. Of course, she felt like she was walking on the fine line between sanity and insanity, but that was not what the woman was asking her. The woman wore bright red lipstick, redder than Embers hair, and her short, stick-straight hair fell right to her chin in an unwavering line. Ember was not to keen to trust her just yet and watched the woman with a dark gaze.

Ember was driven to a facility meant for teenagers with mental problems that was run by the Human Rights Association of San Marino. It somewhat resembled the building from which Ember had just left, but the walls were stained sunshine yellow and the lights, a bit less harsh. Of course, the dizzying smell of antiseptic lingered in the halls, overcoming the rose-scented air freshener that seemed to cloud the atmosphere. Ember was dropped into a room with a simple bed, a television and a window looking out onto San Marino. The woman who had escorted her, Ms. Rita, told her that this was her new home, for the time being, and that a nurse would come around later with a medication.

Then, she was left alone.

Of course, Ember would usually have been out of the room only moments after Ms. Rita had left, but her body ached terribly, so she plopped onto the soft mattress and clicked on the television mounted in the high corner of the room.

Her face covered the screen.