After being frozen for a millennium, Avanna Myles awakes to a new age of Earth. She is in a time of plastic beauty, of advanced technology, and of life easily bought. But her newfound life is not a blessing, but rather a curse. Her past visits her in her wake, when she closes her eyes, and it takes all of her strength to ignore it. She is a slave to the government and its people, and every time she escapes them, she reawakens in the arms of authority. When she finds her reason to live, it lies too far away for her to reach. But her hope is strong. Unadjusted to the new life ahead of her, she needs to learn to adapt to the new rules of the society, or else her heart will stop. For good.
(Currently in the process of being re-written.)


3. Chapter II.


The odd man leaves me alone to weep in silence. A nurse takes his place, dragging in a wheelchair behind her. She is odd, and refusing to speak to me. She merely gestures to a badge on her white jacket that indicates her name is “Cienna”, and points to the wheelchair. I slide my feet out from under the covers one at a time, and collapse onto the chair. The cold air makes me shiver and the metal armrests press into my skin.


She leads me out of my room into a white hallway. I suddenly feel a sharp prick in my neck, and before I can open my mouth, I lose the ability to move my limbs. My eyes droop shut and everything is so heavy. My throat clenches as I struggle to drag air into my lungs. Each breath seems to become farther and farther apart as I lose the energy to complete such a simple task.


My condition begins to plateau and I slowly regain movement in my extremities, and finally, my lungs. I begin to blink my eyes, extremely groggily at first. I wiggle my toes and fingers, but as hard as I try, I can’t move my arms or my legs. I regain my vision and realize I am in a different room, and the reason I still can’t move my limbs is because I am restrained to a padded chair. Dark walls surround me, and the room is empty, save another silver chair across from me.


The door slides open and a man, younger than before, cockily struts in. However, he appears far more professional. He sports a black suit and tie, and leather shoes that he seems quite fond of. As he sits across from me, his right foot resting on his left knee, he strokes the dark leather absent-mindedly. We stare at each other in an awkward silence, barely broken by my poor ability to hold my breathing steady. I keep inhaling too quickly, and my exhales come out in quiet sobs. His stare bears into me, like he’s trying to dig into my soul. As I’m about to let go and break down into tears, he finally opens his mouth. “What is your name?” His voice is flat; he makes no attempt to hide he is bored.


“You should know the answer to that already.” I snap at him. His eyes twitch in something that may have been a vague interest.


“That may be so, but you should be able to answer it as well.”  He retorts.


“What, are you some sort of therapist? What’s your name then?” I glare back with equal intensity. There is a poignant pause.


“They call me Neal. I could be your therapist, if that’s what you want me to be.” The words sound very rehearsed. Shrinks, I think to myself, slightly disgusted. I don’t say anything else to him. We just sit in drowning silence. After what seems to be ages, he finally stops stroking his shoes, stands up, and struts out the sliding door. Cienna walks in with another wheelchair, and I think I get the drill by now. She waves the needle in front of my face, and I nod in understanding. I feel another sharp prick in my neck. This time, I don’t fight it. I just submit to the darkness, and drift into a deep sleep.


In my dreams, I see my older brother. He has a wicked, wily smirk and pinches my cheek in that obnoxious way he always does. I race after him, ready to kick him in the shins, through our kitchen and into his room. He sprints to his desk with his enormous piles of textbooks and slides into his chair. Moments before I can reach him, he yells out, “Mom! Avanna keeps bothering me!” I stop heavy in my tracks. He wouldn’t. He would. I hear my mother begin to step towards the door in the living room, mere paces away, and I book it to my room, just as the door creaks open.


“Avanna,” she screams, “let your brother study, or you’ll be doing all of the chores for the next month!” I cringe and hide in my room until I hear her grumble back into the living room. I open my door a crack and peek my head out, just to be safe, and am met with my brother’s devilish smirk.




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