Kevin woke slowly, his body heavy and his thoughts muddled, like surfacing from a deep, endless ocean. At first, all he could do was blink, his vision blurry and unfocused. The soft hum of machines surrounded him, their steady rhythm oddly comforting.
His first thought was that he shouldn't be awake. The last thing he remembered was falling—falling into that strange pool, the lightning, and the overwhelming pain. His chest tightened at the memory, and he instinctively flexed his fingers. They responded, but something felt... off.
"Kevin?" a voice said, thick with emotion.
Kevin turned his head sluggishly. His father was there, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his face lined with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days—or weeks.
"Dad?" Kevin's voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
His father's face lit up, relief flooding his expression. "You're awake," he breathed, his voice cracking. "You're finally awake."
Kevin tried to sit up, but the movement felt strange. His body, usually weak and frail, moved differently—effortlessly. The aches and stiffness he'd always known weren't there. He stared at his hands, turning them over. They looked the same, but... stronger, somehow. His skin had a faint, healthy sheen, and his once-visible veins seemed deeper under the surface, as if his body had been subtly but undeniably changed.
Before Kevin could ask, the door opened, and a nurse walked in. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Doctor!" she called out, rushing back into the hallway.
Moments later, two doctors entered the room, their expressions a mix of astonishment and confusion.
"He was unresponsive for six weeks," one of them said, flipping through Kevin's chart. "And now he's... awake?"
Kevin felt like a specimen under a microscope as they examined him. They tested his reflexes, checked his pulse, and ran through a battery of questions, all while exchanging puzzled looks.
"This can't be right," one of the doctors murmured, studying the monitor attached to Kevin's arm. "His vitals are not just normal—they're perfect. Better than perfect, even."
"What does that mean?" Kevin's father asked, his voice tense.
"It's... unusual," the doctor admitted. "His muscle density, heart rate, and even his blood pressure—it's like his body's operating at peak efficiency. Honestly, we've never seen anything like it."
Kevin's father frowned, worry etched into his features. "But is he okay?"
"For now, he seems to be," the doctor replied carefully. "But we'll need to run more tests to understand what's happening."
Kevin wasn't listening anymore. He stared at the monitors, at his own hands. He didn't feel sick—he felt alive, more alive than he ever had before.
"I want to go home," he said abruptly, his voice louder and firmer than he expected.
The doctors exchanged glances. "We'll discuss that soon, Kevin," one of them said gently.
Kevin shifted uncomfortably, and as he did, the lights flickered overhead. A strange hum filled the air, faint but noticeable. The doctors glanced at the monitors again, but nothing seemed amiss.
"I mean it," Kevin said, his unease growing. "I just want to go home."
"Kevin, calm down," his dad said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
But Kevin couldn't calm down. A strange energy was building inside him, unbidden and uncontrollable. His body felt hot, his skin tingling as if charged with static electricity.
And then it happened.
The heart monitor sparked, the machines around him short-circuiting in a sudden, violent burst. A brilliant flash of light filled the room, and a deafening crack echoed through the walls. Kevin flinched, throwing his hands up instinctively.
When the light faded, the room was eerily silent. The machines were dark, their screens shattered. The air smelled faintly of ozone, and Kevin's heart pounded in his chest.
"Power surge," one of the doctors said, frowning. "The grid's been unreliable lately."
Kevin's father looked around, concerned. "Is everything okay?"
The doctors nodded, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened—or how Kevin had caused it.
Kevin, on the other hand, knew something wasn't right. He could feel it in his bones, in his skin. But he said nothing. His nose for the first time in an entire eternity was seemingly clear. He felt lighter than usual and for the first time in his life wanted to run. Not to run away but just to be free.
After a brief discussion, the doctors reluctantly agreed to discharge Kevin under strict orders to rest and return for a follow-up. His father was quick to gather their things, muttering something about getting home before anything else went wrong.
As Kevin left the hospital, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was leaving a part of himself behind—or that something inside him had awakened, waiting to reveal itself.
For now, though, he was going home. And for the first time in weeks, he felt alive.
The drive home was quiet, the hum of the truck's engine filling the silence between them. Kevin's father, Mr. Knot, glanced at him every now and then, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel.
"You scared me, you know," his dad said finally, his voice low.
Kevin looked out the window, watching the scenery blur past. "I didn't mean to."
"I know." His dad sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... you're all I've got, Kevin. I can't lose you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for years. Kevin nodded, unsure how to respond.
When they pulled into the driveway, Kevin immediately noticed the house looked even worse than before he'd gone to the hospital. The small, two-bedroom home leaned slightly to one side, the lawn overgrown and cluttered with forgotten tools and broken furniture.
Inside, the mess was worse. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, empty takeout containers were strewn across the counter, and the faint smell of burnt toast lingered in the air. Kevin's dad had always struggled to keep things clean after Kevin's mom left years ago. It was just the two of them now, and it showed.
"Sorry about the mess," his dad muttered, kicking a pair of Kevin's sneakers out of the way as they entered. "I... uh, didn't have much time to clean while you were gone."
Kevin shrugged. "It's fine."
But it wasn't, really. The chaos of the house mirrored the turmoil in Kevin's own mind. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was different—wrong, even. His body didn't feel like his own anymore, and the faint memory of that flash of light in the hospital room lingered in his thoughts.
"Go lie down," his dad said, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll heat up something to eat."
Kevin didn't argue. He climbed the stairs to his room, each step feeling lighter than it should have. His room was just as he left it—a mess of comic books, posters, and the broken gaming console he hadn't gotten around to fixing. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
A knock at the door brought him back to reality. His dad peeked in, a bowl of instant noodles in his hand.
"You've got school next week," his dad said, setting the bowl on Kevin's nightstand. "I almost forgot with everything that's been going on."
"School?" Kevin groaned. He'd transferred to a new school just before his accident, and now he wasn't sure he could face it.
"Yeah," his dad said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "New school, new start, remember? You were excited about it."
Kevin stared at the ceiling. He couldn't remember feeling excited about anything. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do," his dad replied firmly. "I know you've been through a lot, but life doesn't stop, Kevin. You're stronger than you think."
Kevin didn't respond. Stronger than he thought? He didn't feel strong—he felt different, alien in his own skin.
As his dad left the room, Kevin rolled onto his side, staring at his hands again. They looked normal, but he knew something wasn't. He just didn't know what. He then started cleaning his room, putting all the broken stuff in a box and into the attic.
For the following week Kevin put his mind to cleaning what was left of the house and also physical therapy. He also got a suggestion from the doctor, sports. And as the week stretched on, Kevin couldn't help but wonder: what was waiting for him at that new school—and would he be ready for it?