By Alice D. Wiese
Everything hurts.
A skull shattering drum echoes through my head along with my pounding heart. My limbs feel heavy and achy, as if somehow restrained by the thin sweat-soaked hospital gown clinging to my skin. My eyelids are gritty and dry, my mouth full of sandpaper.
<< Hello there. >>
The disembodied voice stabs through my throbbing skull, coming from every and no direction at once. It has no tone, no pitch, no volume, just a shadow of a thought that holds my attention in a vice grip.
"What on earth?" I try to push myself up off the bed but my body won't move. I feel something from the voice — satisfaction? Amusement? — before it fades into the background.
"Let me go!"
<< As you wish. >>
My body surges up as the mental commands to my limbs are suddenly fulfilled. The cheap metal bed jumps and spins back, blood dribbling down my arm as the IV drip is ripped out.
I need to get out of here.
I lunge at the door, slamming down the handle and stumbling out into the hallway. I catch a glimpse of tousled brown hair and blue eyes — my eyes — before my mother reaches out to stop me.
"Mum?" I choke out. She smiles gently, a ray of sunlight in the cold, sterile hallway.
"I think... they put something in my head. I don't— I don't—"
<< Oh, sweetheart. >> I hear my mother's voice in my mind. << You're sixteen now. You get to join the rest of us. Now we can talk using our minds! >>
<< Isn't it wonderful? >>
"Why would you do this to me?" I whisper. She reaches towards me, but I can't feel her touch.
"Mum?"
And then the realisation hits me, cold and hard and shattering my reality in all the wrong places.
"Stop messing with my head!" She dissolves into nothing, leaving me alone in the hallway. The lights flicker, my vision blurring and my breath catching as I slide down the wall. Is anything around me real? The wall presses into my back, cold and hard. It's so cold. But the cold is real.
<< Get up. >>
No.
<< Sulking won't help you now. I'm here to help. >>
An avalanche crushes down on my head with every rhythmic pulse of my heart. My stomach is clenched and twisted, hot tears filling my eyes as I squeeze them shut.
I don't even know what's real anymore.
<< Does anyone? >>
"Aimee." I look up at the sound of my name. A doctor is standing there, his white coat creased and eyes weary.
"We need to go back to your room."
"Are you even real?" I whisper.
He puts his hand on my shoulder, his hand warm but stiff. He is physically real.
He tilts his head, and I catch a glimpse of two precise scars at the base of his skull, pink and glistening in the flickering fluorescent lights. Exactly where my own headache is coming from.
"It's inside your head too."
His eyebrows draw in, closing his eyes for a long moment before his face stiffens and smooths over.
"It's inside everyone's heads."
A slow, perfect smile stretches across his face, widening until it stands in stark contrast against his weary eyes. "Is there any cause for concern?"
I try to tell him yes, that I am very much concerned, but no sound comes out. A silent scream begins to build, clawing at the inside of my throat and bubbling up inside of me. My mind thrashes and writhes inside me, searching for a way of control, but to no avail.
And even though internally I'm screaming, crying, begging for relief, I feel my face smile.
"No," I hear myself say. "Everything is perfect."
He meets my eyes, and I glimpse something flicker across his face. Recognition. A deeply rooted, ancient grief that, for a moment, appears to permeate every fiber of his being. Grief for the control we lost.
And together, we watch ourselves stand and walk back into the room.
Maybe everyone is trying to scream.
About the Author
Alice Wiese is a year 12 student based in Perth, Western Australia, with a strong interest in maths, physics and creative writing.
Outside of school she enjoys reading anything from LitRPGs to shattering coming-of-age novels, with her writing often depicting dystopian themes.
In the future she dreams of studying astrophysics, although that may change as time goes on.
Sarah Jane Justice is an Adelaide-based fiction writer, poet, musician and spoken word artist.
My time at Nambucca Valley Community Radio began back in 2016 after moving into the area from Sydney.
Tara Campbell is an award-winning writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, fiction co-editor at Barrelhouse, and graduate of American University's MFA in Creative Writing.
Alistair Lloyd is a Melbourne based writer and narrator who has been consuming good quality science fiction and fantasy most of his life.
Barry Yedvobnick is a recently retired Biology Professor. He performed molecular biology and genetic research, and taught, at Emory University in Atlanta for 34 years. He is new to fiction writing, and enjoys taking real science a step or two beyond its known boundaries in his
Ed lives with his wife plus a magical assortment of native animals in tropical North Queensland.
Mark is an astrophysicist and space scientist who worked on the Cassini/Huygens mission to Saturn. Following this he worked in computer consultancy, engineering, and high energy research (with a stint at the JET Fusion Torus).
Merri Andrew writes poetry and short fiction, some of which has appeared in Cordite, Be:longing, Baby Teeth and Islet, among other places.
Brian Biswas lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA.
Tim Borella is an Australian author, mainly of short speculative fiction published in anthologies, online and in podcasts.
Emma Louise Gill (she/her) is a British-Australian spec fic writer and consumer of vast amounts of coffee. Brought up on a diet of English lit, she rebelled and now spends her time writing explosive space opera and other fantastical things in
Geraldine Borella writes fiction for children, young adults and adults. Her work has been published by Deadset Press, IFWG Publishing, Wombat Books/Rhiza Edge, AHWA/Midnight Echo, Antipodean SF, Shacklebound Books, Black Ink Fiction, Paramour Ink Fiction, House of Loki and Raven & Drake