"Stop bringing random plants in the house, Prim! You don't know if their poisonous!" Her mother exclaims, finding a brand new hord of plants on the living room floor. Primrose, at six years old, sits in front of the collection with an open book at her side. "That's why I'm sorting them. Uncle Abbott gave me a book about all the different kinds of plants! I'll put the bad ones back outside."
Her mother gives an exasperated sigh.
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"What are you doing, you little spider monkey?" Comes her father's voice as the 8 year old is climbing the fence that surrounds their backyard, blocking the forest behind it. "I want to find new plants and stuff!" She whines as she's picked up and held in the air. He smiles softly and sets her down on the ground, brushing the leaves out of her curly light brown hair. "The forest is too dangerous for a little girl."
"I'm not little, I'm 8."
He can't help but laugh a little.
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"Primrose, where are you going?" Calls a young lady named Elizabeth, Primrose's best friend. Her only friend. "I'm going to the craft store. Uncle Abbott gave me an idea for a new art project."
"Let me guess. It involves flowers somehow."
"Maybe..." The 12 year old murmurs, turning her gaze away from the brown eyed redhead. Lizzie gives her a chuckle. "Some passions just never go away, huh? That's so groovy. I wish I had a passion like you. But what's with the new hairdo?" She asks, realizing Prim has cut herself some bangs that cover her right eye. "Nothing." She says quietly.
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"Prim, maybe it's time for you to take a break." Says Uncle Abbott, who was trying to help Primrose learn to paint something new when her wrist couldn't stop trembling. "But we just started," The 16 year old whines, "I just slept on it funny. It'll stop shaking."
"But your eye, Prim. Those circles are getting so dark. Just go take a nap, the canvas will still be here when you wake up."
She's reluctant to, but she eventually gets up from her seat and goes over to his couch to get comfortable. She passes out cold in a matter of seconds, but still sleeps so fitfully that she awakes still with those dark circles under her eye.
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"Let's do something artsy together, Prim. We'll go to the forest and find a new flower to use." Says Lizzie, now 19 just like Primrose, who looks up from where she lies tiredly in her bed and offers a smile. "Can I wear one of your dresses? A bright yellow one?" She asks, receiving an ecstatic nod in turn. "Of course you can! I just found a really pretty one a few days ago I've been waiting to stuff you in." Lizzie says as she works an arm under Prim to help her as she tries to get up onto her feet. The weakness in her body has grown so severe in the last couple of years, her legs tremble and barely keep her upright even with Lizzie's help.
"You two sure you'll be alright?" Comes the father's voice, fret with worry. "My brother's coming too just in case. He's really strong, he'll be able carry her easily." The redhead responds, offering a reassuring smile.
"Ready to go?" Comes the brother's voice after the two have been upstairs a while and are now descending the staircase. "You got the picnic basket, Jess?"
"Yes, Liz. I got the basket. You're such a nag." He jokes, holding it up for her to see. "I only nag because you always forget stuff if I don't."
Prim finds herself grinning like there's no tomorrow at the two.
As they trek along the beaten path, Jessie leans over to the girls. "So why exactly are we looking for flowers? How is that going to help you two do your little artsy thing?"
"Inspiration, airhead. Plus Prim likes to press the flowers to put directly onto the painting." The brunette rests her head against Lizzie's. "I think I want to find a purple one."
"Purple it is then!" "You always agree to what I want."
"Purple it isn't then."
She rolls her eye with a smile. "I love you, ya weirdo."
"Aw, I love you too."
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Prim sits on the picnic blanket, munching on a cookie while the other two are bickering like always, this time over what song to sing and dance to. She groans quietly as her ears begin to ring, a pounding resonating as if drums were being played in her brain.
"I don't want to do that song! We always do that song! Primrose, what do you th--" Elizabeth is saying as she turns to look at her friend. "Primrose?" She calls again, her voice becoming fainter and fainter as Prim's vision begins to swim and fade. The darkness takes over everything and the sound falls silent.
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Beep... Beep... Beep...
Beep... Beep... Beep...
Primrose opens her eye slowly, groaning quietly as she waits for her vision to come into focus. It pinpoints on a ceiling with fuzzy growths of mold, cracks and soggy water damage.
She turns her head towards the sound of that annoying beep, but what she sees makes no sense to her. A flat black screen with a spiky green line... Numbers... a heart symbol..? She throws off the blanket on top of her and tosses a leg over the side of the bed, immediately tumbling to the floor when she tries to put her weight down. She lets out a small grimace, turning to look at what's in front of her. A doorway comes into view, a few feet in front of her. She glances down at her arm, realizing there's a small throb. Because there's a needle in her arm, and her fall made it dislodge halfway and turn to an angle. She pulls her other arm over to yank it out. "Ow.." She grimaces, trying a second time to get up onto her feet. She manages to stay up while she's leaning heavily against the wall. She heads towards the door at a snail's pace, looking out at the building beyond it. It opens to a hall going left and right, with doors going along the walls, presumably to other rooms. To the left, a good 50 or so feet ahead of her, is a broken and flickering light saying 'exit'. That's the only light down that entire side.
Yeah nope.
She grabs the handle to her room's door and pulls it closed, though she realizes it doesn't have a lock. Oh well. She turns to look around the space, noticing the window on the other side. The window that's been completely covered by sheets of thick, rusted metal. And around the floor, piles of yellowed papers and files. "Where am I...?" She mutters to no one, pressing her back against the door as she lets out a sigh of worry. She decides to sit down on the floor and thumb through the files lying around. Patient records. She doesn't recognize any names, but as she's looking at the lists of symptoms and complaints each one came in with, she realizes over half had the exact same ones. Down to the letter. Hallucinations, mood swings, unexplained bruising and injuries. She finds her own file. The picture catches her attention immediately; because she's asleep in it, but most importantly because it was in full color. "How did someone paint that so small?" She mumbles to herself. Her symptoms are listed as unexplained chronic fatigue, muscle weakness, and an unexplained coma. Coma? Isn't that when someone falls asleep for weeks or months? That's why that machine looked strange, it must be a new model they invented while she was asleep.
She stretches her arms and climbs back up into the bed. "A little nap won't hurt anything. Then I'll figure out how to get out of here." She mumbles, flopping on it sideways. She's conked out in a matter of seconds.