2,118 words - teen magical realism
Clarissa woke up coughing and thirsty.
The thirst burned down her throat and into her middle, dissolving her stomach, lungs, and heart. The coughs echoed inside her, she was so empty.
An adult lady with a tight bun beeped open a white door, spilling light into the dark room. The door had a square of glass to look through. The lady had a clipboard and a card on a lanyard around her neck. She was not Clarissa's aunt.
“Finally awake,” the lady said, and scribbled on the clipboard. "How do you feel?"
Clarissa shrugged.
"I'm Ms. Stacy," the lady said.
From where she was lying on the bed, Clarissa looked around the room, but there wasn't anything to look at.
"And I see that you are Clarissa. Is that right?"
The room had a bed and a window and nothing else.
"Hmm." The lady shuffled to the window and looked through two layers of glass, one streaked with dried Windex. From the light in the hallway, Clarissa could see a window box hung on the sill with drying dirt and half-wilted flowers. She sat up.
“Hello,” one of the flowers said in a high voice.
“Hello,” Clarissa whispered. Her voice was hoarse.
“What did you say?” The lady turned.
“Nothing.” Clarissa shook her head.
“Hmm.” The lady wrote on her clipboard again. "Do you know why you're here, Clarissa?"
Clarissa shrugged.
The lady did more writing. "Your aunt brought you in yesterday. Do you remember that?"
Clarissa looked at the flowers.
"Your aunt is worried about you," the lady said.
The flowers were marigolds. Yellow, orange, and red.
"Hmm." The lady tapped her clipboard. "Your aunt will be coming by soon. I'll send her in when she gets here." She left, clicking the door shut behind her.
Only a square of light from the door's window puddled into the room. Clarissa pulled her covers back. She was wearing a hospital gown. The floor was cold plastic tiles. Barefoot, she walked to the window.
“Are you still awake?” she asked the flowers.
“I’m thirsty,” one of the orange-red marigolds said.
Clarissa nodded. “I’ll find you some water.”
But across the room, the white door didn't open. Even when she stood on tiptoe, she couldn't peek through the window at the top of door. She tried the doorknob again. Then she went back to the flowers. The window didn't open either.
"I can't find any water," she said. Her throat felt extra scratchy and she blinked her eyes.
The flowers nodded in the breeze, and Clarissa folded her arms, leaning on the frame of the window. Her chest was starting to constrict, it was so empty.
“You look sad,” a yellow marigold said.
Clarissa opened her mouth to breathe better. Her throat felt like it was closing. She swallowed. “I also thirsty,” she said. The window was cold against her palm, and it made the glass fog around the edges of her fingers. When she took her hand away, there was still a hand-shape on the glass for one second.
The door behind Clarissa beeped.
“Clarissa?” A plump older woman with soft brown hair and round cheeks opened the door.
Clarissa didn't turn around.
“What are you doing at the window?” the woman asked.
“Nothing.” Clarissa's voice was monotone. The whole room was monotone.
The woman looked at the flowers on the windowsill. Clarissa could see the woman's reflection in the dark window.
“Ms. Stacey told me you were up.”
Clarissa breathed in and breathed out. Her breaths were shaky.
“I know things are hard right now, and I thought things would be easier for you here. I’ll come in to see you whenever I can.” The woman hesitated. "How are you doing?"
“Fine.”
The woman looked at the door and around the room, but there wasn't anything to look at.
“Dear," the woman said. "I’ve been thinking.” The aunt took a few steps toward Clarissa, then stopped, still too far away to touch her. She looked around the room again. “Those are nice flowers," she said.
Clarissa looked down at the windowsill.
"What kind are they?”
"Marigolds." The paint was chipping where the windowsill met the glass.
"You know," the woman said. "Your mother loved flowers too, didn't she?"
Clarissa picked at the white paint.
The woman took a breath to speak, let it out, and then took it in again. "Sometimes, after a traumatic event, people will think things that aren't true. Did you know that?" She took another step forward. "I mean, after something bad happens, lots of people get confused. What do you think about that, Clarissa?"
Clarissa shrugged.
"Sometimes these people think something is good for them, when actually it's hurting them. Do you understand that, Clarissa?”
Clarissa shrugged again.
“It’s hard to lose so much all at once. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Alright," the woman let out her breath. "Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She retreated from the room and clicked the door shut behind her.
Clarissa looked up at the marigolds. “You’ll be okay,” she said.
"I'm thirsty," the yellow-red marigold said again.
Clarissa leaned her forehead on the glass. "Me too."
The long overhead light flipped on and Clarissa squinted.
“You’re moving rooms." The lady with the card around her neck was back, but the clipboard wasn't.
Clarissa sat up in bed.
"Come on," the lady said, holding open the door. "It's down the hall. You'll be in a different section."
The hall was long and painted light yellow. The floor was brown carpet. The ceiling was long florescent lights.
When they turned the corner, there was a room with two couches and low table with coloring books. And there were other kids. Maybe seven of them. A boy in a brown sweatshirt, jeans, and bare feet looked up as Clarissa and the lady walked by. He was maybe Clarissa's age, maybe a little older. His hair was brown and messy. He was coloring with crayons.
Clarissa's new room had no windows and no flowers. It did have a dresser and a little desk with a chair.
The lady opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a stack of clothes.
"You're aunt brought these for you." She set the clothes on the bed.
Clarissa stood in the corner and watched.
"There are five shirts, two pairs of pants, seven pairs of socks, and seven pairs of underwear. I'll wait outside while you get dressed."
The lady left, closing the door behind her. The clothes were Clarissa's from home, but they felt strange. The jeans were stiff. The white t-shirt was loose. She didn't put on any socks.
The door wasn't locked this time.
The lady saw her when she opened it. "All done? It's time for breakfast."
Clarissa followed her out into the big room she'd walked through before, with the couches and coloring books. All the kids were lining up, and Clarissa took the very end of the line. The boy with brown hair was in front of her.
"Hi," he said.
Clarissa didn't say anything.
The line moved down another hall to a tiny cafeteria. There were five tables, nine kids, and maybe ten grownups with them. All the adults had cards on lanyards around their necks.
Clarissa got a tray with bacon and scrambled eggs and hash browns. She sat down at the only empty table. But then the brown-haired boy sat down across from her.
"What's your name?" he asked. He had big brown eyes that made her not want to look at him, and then want to.
Clarissa looked around the cafeteria. The grown-ups were eating food too. One of them came over to their table. "Everything alright here?" he asked.
Clarissa and the boy nodded.
When the man left, the boy said, "I'm Alex."
"I'm Clarissa."
The boy nodded and picked up his fork for the scrambled eggs.
Clarissa rolled up a piece of bacon and poked it in her mouth.
"So what's wrong?" the boy asked.
Clarissa shrugged.
"Everyone has something wrong. I get sad. Really sad. And then sometimes I get scared. I tried to stay underwater at the pool until I stopped breathing, because I didn't want to be so sad anymore. That's when my mom brought me here. Sometimes she visits. Sometimes she brings me things, if the staff says it's okay. So, what's wrong with you?"
Clarissa said, "I'm thirsty."
The boy pushed his plastic cup of water over to her.
Clarissa shook her head. "Not that kind of thirsty."
The boy blinked his brown eyes. They were very brown.
Clarissa looked at the grown ups. Some of them were walking around the room. Some of them were sitting at the tables eating.
"I talk to flowers," Clarissa said.
"Because you're sad?"
"Sometimes."
The boy nodded. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“All of them.” She poked her fork at the scrambled eggs. “But especially daises.”
"Which ones are daisies?" he asked.
"They have a big middle and lots of long petals around the edge. They can be any color you want, but I like the pink ones."
"Do they help you be happy?" the boy asked. "Pink daisies?"
"I'm not so thirsty when I look at them."
One of the adults clapped their hands. "Okay, everyone! Breakfast is over. Take your trays to the trash cans, put them on top, and line up."
"I don't think we have any daisies here," the boy said, standing up. "Not even outside."
The next morning, Clarissa didn't open her eyes when the light went on overhead. She was too tired to move. Too thirsty.
"Clarissa?" the lady with the bun said. "Clarissa, it's time to get up."
Clarissa coughed. "I'm sick," she said.
The woman left the room.
Clarissa wanted to go home. Her real home. She wanted her dad. She wanted her mom. She wanted sunshine and warm dirt and air that everyone else wasn't breathing. She wanted grass and moving clouds.
She wanted a flower.
The lady came back. "I've got a thermometer," she said. "I'm going to stick it in your ear. You'll hear a beep."
The thermometer tip was cold. There was a beep.
"Your temperature is fine," the lady said. "I don't think you're sick."
Clarissa coughed again. And she couldn’t stop for a long time. Her whole body shook. When it passed, she kept her eyes closed. There wasn’t anything at look at.
This was how they had both died – her mom and her dad. First the coughing.
"Clarissa," the lady said. "Look at me."
Clarissa kept her eyes closed.
"Clarissa, you aunt told me about this. You think you're sick, but you're not. Your brain isn't thinking right. Did your therapist talk to you about this yesterday?"
Clarissa thought about sunshine. She thought about daisies.
"Your parents were both sick. Is that right?" The lady waited. "You're scared that you'll get sick too. I understand that. But it's not true. The hospital tested you, and you don't have any of the germs your parents did. You're not sick, Clarissa."
Clarissa rolled onto her side, away from the lady.
"If you're not up in the next two minutes, you're going to miss breakfast."
A minute passed.
"I'll come back in an hour," the lady said. "If you're up and dressed, you can still have free time in the common room with everyone else."
The lady retreated, shutting the door and leaving Clarissa alone.
Clarissa shifted her weight. She coughed again.
When the lady came back, Clarissa hadn't moved.
She didn't open her eyes for the whole day.
She coughed and slept and woke and slept again, and never opened her eyes. Not even once. She buried herself in the covers.
She was so thirsty.
Thirsty enough to die.
That night, there was a tapping at her door.
She didn’t move, but she listened.
The door opened.
"Clarissa?" the lady said. "Someone would like to see you."
Clarissa heard bare feet on the floor.
"Are you awake?" It was Alex.
Clarissa opened her eyes and pulled the covers off her face. The light was on in her room.
"I brought you something," Alex said. "Ms. Stacey said I could talk to you for a minute. She's right outside."
Clarissa sat up.
Alex held out a piece of paper with both hands. "I made this for you in free time today, because you weren't there. And I thought you might be sad like I am sometimes."
Clarissa took the paper. On it was a drawing of a bright pink daisy
A tear escaped, sliding down from the corner of her eye. She sniffed.
"Does it look like a daisy?" Alex asked. "I don't know if I did it right."
More tears were slipping out of the corners of Clarissa's eyes. She had to let go of the paper with one hand to wipe them all away. The tears dripped off her chin, and the tight feeling in her throat and chest let go.
"Do you like it?" Alex asked.
Clarissa nodded. "I don't feel so thirsty anymore."
Clarissa woke up coughing and thirsty.
The thirst burned down her throat and into her middle, dissolving her stomach, lungs, and heart. The coughs echoed inside her, she was so empty.
An adult lady with a tight bun beeped open a white door, spilling light into the dark room. The door had a square of glass to look through. The lady had a clipboard and a card on a lanyard around her neck. She was not Clarissa's aunt.
“Finally awake,” the lady said, and scribbled on the clipboard. "How do you feel?"
Clarissa shrugged.
"I'm Ms. Stacy," the lady said.
From where she was lying on the bed, Clarissa looked around the room, but there wasn't anything to look at.
"And I see that you are Clarissa. Is that right?"
The room had a bed and a window and nothing else.
"Hmm." The lady shuffled to the window and looked through two layers of glass, one streaked with dried Windex. From the light in the hallway, Clarissa could see a window box hung on the sill with drying dirt and half-wilted flowers. She sat up.
“Hello,” one of the flowers said in a high voice.
“Hello,” Clarissa whispered. Her voice was hoarse.
“What did you say?” The lady turned.
“Nothing.” Clarissa shook her head.
“Hmm.” The lady wrote on her clipboard again. "Do you know why you're here, Clarissa?"
Clarissa shrugged.
The lady did more writing. "Your aunt brought you in yesterday. Do you remember that?"
Clarissa looked at the flowers.
"Your aunt is worried about you," the lady said.
The flowers were marigolds. Yellow, orange, and red.
"Hmm." The lady tapped her clipboard. "Your aunt will be coming by soon. I'll send her in when she gets here." She left, clicking the door shut behind her.
Only a square of light from the door's window puddled into the room. Clarissa pulled her covers back. She was wearing a hospital gown. The floor was cold plastic tiles. Barefoot, she walked to the window.
“Are you still awake?” she asked the flowers.
“I’m thirsty,” one of the orange-red marigolds said.
Clarissa nodded. “I’ll find you some water.”
But across the room, the white door didn't open. Even when she stood on tiptoe, she couldn't peek through the window at the top of door. She tried the doorknob again. Then she went back to the flowers. The window didn't open either.
"I can't find any water," she said. Her throat felt extra scratchy and she blinked her eyes.
The flowers nodded in the breeze, and Clarissa folded her arms, leaning on the frame of the window. Her chest was starting to constrict, it was so empty.
“You look sad,” a yellow marigold said.
Clarissa opened her mouth to breathe better. Her throat felt like it was closing. She swallowed. “I also thirsty,” she said. The window was cold against her palm, and it made the glass fog around the edges of her fingers. When she took her hand away, there was still a hand-shape on the glass for one second.
The door behind Clarissa beeped.
“Clarissa?” A plump older woman with soft brown hair and round cheeks opened the door.
Clarissa didn't turn around.
“What are you doing at the window?” the woman asked.
“Nothing.” Clarissa's voice was monotone. The whole room was monotone.
The woman looked at the flowers on the windowsill. Clarissa could see the woman's reflection in the dark window.
“Ms. Stacey told me you were up.”
Clarissa breathed in and breathed out. Her breaths were shaky.
“I know things are hard right now, and I thought things would be easier for you here. I’ll come in to see you whenever I can.” The woman hesitated. "How are you doing?"
“Fine.”
The woman looked at the door and around the room, but there wasn't anything to look at.
“Dear," the woman said. "I’ve been thinking.” The aunt took a few steps toward Clarissa, then stopped, still too far away to touch her. She looked around the room again. “Those are nice flowers," she said.
Clarissa looked down at the windowsill.
"What kind are they?”
"Marigolds." The paint was chipping where the windowsill met the glass.
"You know," the woman said. "Your mother loved flowers too, didn't she?"
Clarissa picked at the white paint.
The woman took a breath to speak, let it out, and then took it in again. "Sometimes, after a traumatic event, people will think things that aren't true. Did you know that?" She took another step forward. "I mean, after something bad happens, lots of people get confused. What do you think about that, Clarissa?"
Clarissa shrugged.
"Sometimes these people think something is good for them, when actually it's hurting them. Do you understand that, Clarissa?”
Clarissa shrugged again.
“It’s hard to lose so much all at once. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Alright," the woman let out her breath. "Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She retreated from the room and clicked the door shut behind her.
Clarissa looked up at the marigolds. “You’ll be okay,” she said.
"I'm thirsty," the yellow-red marigold said again.
Clarissa leaned her forehead on the glass. "Me too."
The long overhead light flipped on and Clarissa squinted.
“You’re moving rooms." The lady with the card around her neck was back, but the clipboard wasn't.
Clarissa sat up in bed.
"Come on," the lady said, holding open the door. "It's down the hall. You'll be in a different section."
The hall was long and painted light yellow. The floor was brown carpet. The ceiling was long florescent lights.
When they turned the corner, there was a room with two couches and low table with coloring books. And there were other kids. Maybe seven of them. A boy in a brown sweatshirt, jeans, and bare feet looked up as Clarissa and the lady walked by. He was maybe Clarissa's age, maybe a little older. His hair was brown and messy. He was coloring with crayons.
Clarissa's new room had no windows and no flowers. It did have a dresser and a little desk with a chair.
The lady opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a stack of clothes.
"You're aunt brought these for you." She set the clothes on the bed.
Clarissa stood in the corner and watched.
"There are five shirts, two pairs of pants, seven pairs of socks, and seven pairs of underwear. I'll wait outside while you get dressed."
The lady left, closing the door behind her. The clothes were Clarissa's from home, but they felt strange. The jeans were stiff. The white t-shirt was loose. She didn't put on any socks.
The door wasn't locked this time.
The lady saw her when she opened it. "All done? It's time for breakfast."
Clarissa followed her out into the big room she'd walked through before, with the couches and coloring books. All the kids were lining up, and Clarissa took the very end of the line. The boy with brown hair was in front of her.
"Hi," he said.
Clarissa didn't say anything.
The line moved down another hall to a tiny cafeteria. There were five tables, nine kids, and maybe ten grownups with them. All the adults had cards on lanyards around their necks.
Clarissa got a tray with bacon and scrambled eggs and hash browns. She sat down at the only empty table. But then the brown-haired boy sat down across from her.
"What's your name?" he asked. He had big brown eyes that made her not want to look at him, and then want to.
Clarissa looked around the cafeteria. The grown-ups were eating food too. One of them came over to their table. "Everything alright here?" he asked.
Clarissa and the boy nodded.
When the man left, the boy said, "I'm Alex."
"I'm Clarissa."
The boy nodded and picked up his fork for the scrambled eggs.
Clarissa rolled up a piece of bacon and poked it in her mouth.
"So what's wrong?" the boy asked.
Clarissa shrugged.
"Everyone has something wrong. I get sad. Really sad. And then sometimes I get scared. I tried to stay underwater at the pool until I stopped breathing, because I didn't want to be so sad anymore. That's when my mom brought me here. Sometimes she visits. Sometimes she brings me things, if the staff says it's okay. So, what's wrong with you?"
Clarissa said, "I'm thirsty."
The boy pushed his plastic cup of water over to her.
Clarissa shook her head. "Not that kind of thirsty."
The boy blinked his brown eyes. They were very brown.
Clarissa looked at the grown ups. Some of them were walking around the room. Some of them were sitting at the tables eating.
"I talk to flowers," Clarissa said.
"Because you're sad?"
"Sometimes."
The boy nodded. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“All of them.” She poked her fork at the scrambled eggs. “But especially daises.”
"Which ones are daisies?" he asked.
"They have a big middle and lots of long petals around the edge. They can be any color you want, but I like the pink ones."
"Do they help you be happy?" the boy asked. "Pink daisies?"
"I'm not so thirsty when I look at them."
One of the adults clapped their hands. "Okay, everyone! Breakfast is over. Take your trays to the trash cans, put them on top, and line up."
"I don't think we have any daisies here," the boy said, standing up. "Not even outside."
The next morning, Clarissa didn't open her eyes when the light went on overhead. She was too tired to move. Too thirsty.
"Clarissa?" the lady with the bun said. "Clarissa, it's time to get up."
Clarissa coughed. "I'm sick," she said.
The woman left the room.
Clarissa wanted to go home. Her real home. She wanted her dad. She wanted her mom. She wanted sunshine and warm dirt and air that everyone else wasn't breathing. She wanted grass and moving clouds.
She wanted a flower.
The lady came back. "I've got a thermometer," she said. "I'm going to stick it in your ear. You'll hear a beep."
The thermometer tip was cold. There was a beep.
"Your temperature is fine," the lady said. "I don't think you're sick."
Clarissa coughed again. And she couldn’t stop for a long time. Her whole body shook. When it passed, she kept her eyes closed. There wasn’t anything at look at.
This was how they had both died – her mom and her dad. First the coughing.
"Clarissa," the lady said. "Look at me."
Clarissa kept her eyes closed.
"Clarissa, you aunt told me about this. You think you're sick, but you're not. Your brain isn't thinking right. Did your therapist talk to you about this yesterday?"
Clarissa thought about sunshine. She thought about daisies.
"Your parents were both sick. Is that right?" The lady waited. "You're scared that you'll get sick too. I understand that. But it's not true. The hospital tested you, and you don't have any of the germs your parents did. You're not sick, Clarissa."
Clarissa rolled onto her side, away from the lady.
"If you're not up in the next two minutes, you're going to miss breakfast."
A minute passed.
"I'll come back in an hour," the lady said. "If you're up and dressed, you can still have free time in the common room with everyone else."
The lady retreated, shutting the door and leaving Clarissa alone.
Clarissa shifted her weight. She coughed again.
When the lady came back, Clarissa hadn't moved.
She didn't open her eyes for the whole day.
She coughed and slept and woke and slept again, and never opened her eyes. Not even once. She buried herself in the covers.
She was so thirsty.
Thirsty enough to die.
That night, there was a tapping at her door.
She didn’t move, but she listened.
The door opened.
"Clarissa?" the lady said. "Someone would like to see you."
Clarissa heard bare feet on the floor.
"Are you awake?" It was Alex.
Clarissa opened her eyes and pulled the covers off her face. The light was on in her room.
"I brought you something," Alex said. "Ms. Stacey said I could talk to you for a minute. She's right outside."
Clarissa sat up.
Alex held out a piece of paper with both hands. "I made this for you in free time today, because you weren't there. And I thought you might be sad like I am sometimes."
Clarissa took the paper. On it was a drawing of a bright pink daisy
A tear escaped, sliding down from the corner of her eye. She sniffed.
"Does it look like a daisy?" Alex asked. "I don't know if I did it right."
More tears were slipping out of the corners of Clarissa's eyes. She had to let go of the paper with one hand to wipe them all away. The tears dripped off her chin, and the tight feeling in her throat and chest let go.
"Do you like it?" Alex asked.
Clarissa nodded. "I don't feel so thirsty anymore."
(photo courtesy of Martinak15)
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