Rough Draft - Gothic - First person

	When I awoke I was surrounded by darkness. There was some sort of cloth covering my eyes and the stench of something most foul diffused into the scent of an overly sanitary room. There was a dull pain in my head. My mind was floating on the edge of consciousness. A man’s voice could be heard in the backdrop.

	“He’s stable, but… lost a lot of blood… lost oxygen for a few minutes… the repercussions of that.”

	“What were they talking about?“ I wondered. My mind was still in a deep haze and I couldn’t think clearly.

	As my mind began to clear, the voices became more audible

	“When will he wake up?”

	This time it was a young girl’s voice. It was my younger sister, Nyra.

	“I don’t know…ould be days, weeks, months even,” the man said.

	I didn’t understand what was happening. I tried to get up, but I felt a sharp pain shoot up my body from my chest.

	I let out a loud cry as I felt stitches shift.

	“Brother!” she exclaimed.

	I felt someone grab my hand.

	“You’re awake…” Nyra said.

	“It hurts. My chest, it hurts,” I said gritting my teeth.

	“Don’t try to get up,” she said gently pushing me back down on my back, “you’ve been stabbed,”

	“S-stabbed?” I asked.

	“We think they wanted to get at Father through you.”

	Our father? So it was political? Our father was a man with many ties to political candidates and a major donor to different campaigns.

	“Where’s the old man now?” I asked. It didn’t seem like he was in the room with us.

	“Father… was too busy to come visit, but he sent flowers…” she muttered.

	I didn’t expect much from him anyways.

	“Nyra, take off these blindfolds, I can’t see,”

	“That’s not a good idea, there may be ocular dama-” the doctor interjected. I quickly undid the bandages in a hurry to see my surroundings. The hospital light blinded me at first, but my eyes quickly adjusted.

	“I can see just fine, I’m alright,” I said, reassuring her as I rubbed my eyes. There was a bit of pain however.

	“That’s a relief,” she said with a sigh.

	“You were slashed near your eyes as well as stabbed in the chest. It’s healed, but there may be a scar,” the doctor said.

	I took a look around the room. Nyra was standing by the bed and the doctor was standing six feet away next to a nurse, but something was wrong. Very wrong.

	“When will he be able to come home?” she turned to ask the doctor.

	“It depends. He’s in a stable condition, so after we run some tests, if there’s nothing wrong you can just continue your rest and treatment at home, given your resources.”

	“Nyra, what’s this black stuff?” I asked anxiously as I sat upright, despite the pain.

	“Huh?” she spun around and asked, “What are you talking about?”

	“This dark mist…It’s everywhere, what is it?”

	The doctor and Nyra turned to look at each other and looked back at me.

	“There’s nothing here, brother,” she said looking around.

	No, no there definitely was something in this room. It was like a black mist, permeating through the room. Just the sight of it terrified me.

	“I can see it right now, it’s everywhere. Is it a fire?”

	They’re faces grew increasingly concerned.

	“And what died in here? It smells like death,” I asked incredulously.

	Her face had a look of confusion. One look told me they didn’t know what I was talking about.

	The doctor turned to the nurse.

	“Call the neurologist. It seems there was some brain damage, after all,” he whispered.

	After running numerous tests and an MRI, the neurologist said he couldn’t find anything wrong with me as far as he could tell and sent us on our way.

	“Call us if anything changes,” the doctor said turning to my sister.

	We walked to the elevator as my younger sister had a hand around my opposite shoulder to help me walk.

	I was quite relieved to be leaving this place. This place terrified me. This hospital was like a labyrinth that reeked of the stench of death. Each room I found myself being examined in had that same black mist poisoning the very air.

	When we got off the elevator, I found the house maid waiting for us carrying something. She handed us a pair of sunglasses.

	“What are these for?” I asked Nyra.

	“Put these on. When we get outside, walk quickly and don’t say anything.”

	When I approached the exit, my questions began to find their answers, which only beget more questions.

	Through the glass doors I could see a large crowd had formed. As I went through the revolving doors, day turned to night, as the sanitary hospital lights changed to cloudy skies and bright camera flashes.

	“Mr. Grant, what is your comment on everything that’s happened so far?” one reporter asked.

	“Mr. Grant, what is your relation to-”

	“Mr. Grant-”

	“Nyra, what’s going on?”  I shouted over the rush of the people.

	“Don’t ask, just get in the car,” she shouted.

	We got into the black car and the began to drive away. Soon the hive of reporters seemed to get smaller until they were out of view.

	We sat in the car for a while in silence, until I finally spoke up.

	“Are you going to tell me what just happened right there?” I said staring dryly at her.

	“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just go home first,” she said crossing her arms and looking out the tinted windows.

	Well, I did want to talk about it. Something happened. She wouldn’t be acting like this otherwise. Our family was fairly high profile in this city for our philanthropic actions, but this seemed more like a scandal had taken place while I was near dead.

I turned my head and looked out the window as well. The gloomy afternoon skies had turned dark and began to rumble. A storm was coming.

	The rest of the ride of the home was filled with a gloomy silence.