[ The teen opened his eyes to see the paneled ceiling and harsh fluorescence. The sterile scent of disinfectant melded with a metallic taste in his mouth. Prodding the sore on his cheek with his tongue, he felt a hint of pain.
He was alive.
The monitor beeped at a steady rhythm. Doctors often said that somewhere in that pulse was the sound of something different. It was that difference that often caused him these visits.
When his hand went to rub his chest, he felt the tug of a needle connected to his veins. Supposedly, the IV fed fluids into his blood stream to keep him hydrated. So, why did he feel as if he had just gone a month without water in a desert?
The hand had an oddly pale hue with a thinness that reminded him of the skeleton in his science class, decrepit and grim. He tried to remember what happened but was somehow drawing a blank. He was walking? No. He was working? No. That wasn't it either. The boy sighed. It didn't seem to matter.
Regardless of what he was doing, he ended up here anyway.
In a familiar manner, he raised his bed and pressed the button to call for the nurse. In just a few minutes, an older lady who seemed to be either working a double shift or just lacked 48 hours of sleep opened his curtain. The boy breathed out an airy laugh. "Fancy seeing you here, Miss Lacey."
"Fancy seeing you here, too, Johnny. Though, truthfully, I was really hoping you wouldn't keep visiting so often."
A dimple formed on the boy's cheek. "I know, but I couldn't help it. I really missed your wit and banter."
The nurse took the clipboard hanging near his bedside and started to fill in the notes while checking the teen's temperature and pulse. "Such a sweet mouth. Bet all the little girls at school are crushing on you."
Johnny shook his head weakly, his response a bit slurred. "Unfortunately, no. I don't think anyone can understand the inner-mind of someone as unique as me."
"Shame. They'll come around, no doubt." The boy didn't mention the truth and the nurse didn't either. Who would want to date the poor kid who dressed weird and couldn't even walk the mile in gym class?
"Zero to ten, any pain?"
"Zero. Just a little sleepy... How long have I been out?"
"Not too long. Half a day according to your chart. Do you recall what happened before you fainted?"
Johnny tried to remember again and this time a fuzzy thought appeared. "Um… I was… I think at school. Something about the Bill of Rights?"
Lacey nodded, "I think you were in History Class."
His mind clearer now, Johnny groaned. The tangled hair resignedly plopped down on the pillow. He just had to bang his fucking head while standing up too fast. He probably didn't only have a sore in his cheek but a bruise on the entire left side of his face.
"Fuck…. I was taking a test. I even pulled an all-nighter trying to study."
Jacey put the clipboard down and looked at him disapprovingly. "Johnny… You know-"
"Yeah, I know. I just… I couldn't really focus this week," he tiredly explained. He didn't mean to rudely cut her off, he just couldn't stand to hear a lecture when he's heard it all already. "There are new two year old triplets at the house. They're still getting used to the environment and have a hard time sleeping. When one wakes up crying, they all wake up crying."
The nurse had seen it all in this hospital, the pain and suffering of patients, parents, children, partners... Yet, one of the toughest sights to see were those who could only take on their pain alone.
"I try to study after work, but then I have chores." The boy caught himself before he fell into the trap of self pity. In an instant, he changed his tune to laugh good-naturedly, as if what he was saying wasn't a problem at all. "Don't worry. I think this pretty much made up for it. I'm not so sure, but I think I finished the test. Hopefully, my teacher's lenient. Haha."
Jacey patted the boy's head. There really wasn't anything she could say to him. The boy was trying his best for his own future. It was only a shame that his health had to suffer for the sake of it. ]
~~~
A cloudless blue, deep and flawless, was framed in triplicate by the windows to the outside. Like a moving painting, Ulfstead watched the serenity with an erratic thump in his chest.
His nose was clogged with mucus and his lungs cinched tighter. In the eyes whose blue reflected that of the outside, tears involuntarily began to form when a tuft of joyous gold perched itself on the sill.
The tiny thing chirped and sang, twisting its head to preen the back feathers, stopping every few seconds to look at him.
In an instant, the air returned to the boy's lungs and the need for tears no longer threatened to consume him. A mirthful laugh left his lips. Although it wasn't a chick, it certainly resembled one.
Feeling more energetic, he lifted his hand, a fleshy palm that had no resemblance to the one in his memories, and invited the bird.
He held no expectations, yet without rhyme or reason, the small animal came to him.
The clawed feet tickled his palm before the bird laid like it was safely nested in a sturdy tree.
He didn't know if this was trust or a mere lack of instincts. Don't birds have flighty natures? Or was the bird so attune to his previous mood that it disregarded the usual hunter prey relationship to comfort him?
As he lightly stroked the little bird's head, Ulfstead wondered when he had become such an emotional person? Maybe it was this world that made him more susceptible to feelings and the like. There was just too much goodness in his current life that he can't even look at the vibrant sky without evoking some type of reaction.
A moment later, a knock at the door sounded and with a hint of hoarseness in his voice, he called for them to come in.
Steward Samel entered in great relief hearing HIs Highness awake. He made his rounds throughout the palace, rearranging things that were pushed out of place after the king's tirade a few days ago.
Although no one was punished, the residence was finely combed through for any omissions. At this point, most people believed that the King's harsh demands were the catalyst to the Prince's illness while the poor weather was the fuel.
Yet, betting tongues could only be held. How could the King be at fault?
Thankfully, His Majesty wasn't unreasonable as to set blame on the various teachers he hired either. With this, the incident could currently be said to have passed cleanly. All that was left was for the Prince to get better. "Good afternoon, Your Highness. The doctor has returned to check your pulse."
Ulfstead nearly crushed the bird hearing that the backward doctor who he had tried his hardest not to see, had come to see him. Even if Doctor Fenwick didn't know a thing about how the things he prescribed worked on the human body, he was still much more reliable than this man.
He would never forget a year ago when this half-priest, half-doctor tried smearing what smelled like fermented onion paste on the soles of his feet, saying that it would cure his illness.
All Ulfstead could confirm was that the paste certainly helped him return his sense of smell, because even with a clogged nose, his olfactory certainly smelled something. Possibly the man's bullshit.
A fat doctor whose back held a light curve from decades worth of sitting in a chair 'researching' new ways to cure human ailments entered the room like a poor copy of Buddha. At his solar-plexus, a golden pendant bearing the winged trigram of the Holy Temple reflected the sun's light perfectly into Ulfstead's eyes.
Ugh. It burns.
Behind him, Kavesh and Netter dutifully stepped inside as well. He suspected that the guards weren't necessarily concerned for his well being but just wanted to witness some prodigious 'miracle' to occur. If not that, how could they ever let this man in?
Since the last time he was sick, these ancient people gave all the credit to this phony when it was him who did all the work, catapulting the fat doctors career into the stratosphere. Did they not realize how difficult it was naturally getting better when he was almost force fed a concoction that was so vile, it could be mistaken for a witches brew?
And why did these people believe drinking the backwash of a priest from the Temple did anything but expose them to more germs?
As if to feel the human's distress, the little bird chirped and pecked at the palm.
Hearing the sound of an animal, the men focused their attention to what the Prince was holding.
Then, like a screaming banshee, the fat doctor squawked, "Oh my Go- Oh my goodness!" the golden pendant swayed back and forth as the man stumbled out of the room. He looked through the doorway like it contained the sins of the entire world and he accidentally inhaled it. In a hurry, he left the chamber. Ulfstead was able to hear his echos of his stomps until he reached the staircase.
Although he was glad that the doctor had fled without prescribing another deadly bowl of bubbling goop, he actually felt concern for the reaction. He knew of the avian flu and that it was bad to touch wild animals, but in this world, people consumed unfiltered water and considered wild game a delicacy.
Luckily, the faithful steward and guards weren't watching him wearily. Instead, it was quite the opposite. They watched him in reverent disbelief. All three knelt like they were seeing the King and pressed the palms of their hands together.
All three praised, "God of Light has blessed His Highness the First Prince."
'....what the fuck?'