[KARRIN]
I sat in the dimly lit lecture hall, my notebook open and pen poised. The professor, Dr. Lawson, stood at the front, a white lab coat billowing around him like a cape. His enthusiasm for physiology was contagious, and I leaned forward, eager to absorb every word.
Dr. Lawson began with the basics—the cell membrane. "Think of it as a bouncer at a nightclub," he said, pacing back and forth. "It decides who gets in and who stays out."
I imagined tiny bouncers guarding the entrance to each cell, checking IDs (receptors) and allowing only the right molecules to pass. Sodium ions, potassium ions, glucose—each with its VIP pass.
"And ATP," Dr. Lawson added, "is the currency they use to pay the cover charge." I chuckled. Who knew cell membranes had such a lively nightlife?
Next came neurons—the electric dancers of the body. Dr. Lawson mimicked a waltz, arms outstretched. "Neurons communicate through action potentials," he said. "Like passing secret notes in class."
I pictured neurons whispering across synapses, neurotransmitters doing the tango. "Dopamine, serotonin, acetylcholine," I whispered to myself, scribbling furiously.
"And don't forget the myelin sheath," Dr. Lawson said, twirling. "It's like wrapping your phone charger in duct tape—faster transmission!"
I wondered if my brain cells danced when I learned new things. Maybe they did a salsa during exams.
Dr. Lawson switched gears, demonstrating the heart's rhythm. "Lub-dub, lub-dub," he chanted, swaying. "A symphony of valves and chambers."
I closed my eyes, feeling my own heart dance. Blood flowed through arteries and veins, a choreography of oxygen and nutrients.
- "And the SA node," Dr. Lawson said, pointing to his chest. "The conductor of this orchestra!" I imagined a tiny maestro waving a baton inside my heart.
-Lungs expanded like accordion bellows. "Inhale, exhale," Dr. Lawson sang, hips swaying. "Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out."
My ribcage moved in sync. I envisioned alveoli—tiny dancers—trading gases with capillaries. "Exchange partners!" I whispered.
"And surfactant," Dr. Lawson said, mimicking waves. "Keeps those alveoli from sticking together." I mentally high-fived my surfactant molecules.
Dr. Lawson saved the best for last—the kidneys. "Filtration, reabsorption, secretion," he chanted, hips twisting. "They're the body's DJs."
I imagined glomeruli spinning records, tubules remixing urine. "Balance," I murmured. "Fluid, electrolytes, pH."
- "And the juxtaglomerular apparatus," Dr. Lawson said, jazz hands flaring. "Regulates blood pressure!" I clapped. Kidneys knew how to party.
My footsteps echoed in the empty lecture hall as I gathered my belongings. The applause had faded, leaving behind a sense of both accomplishment and solitude. I glanced at my phone—Emile's call had interrupted my exit.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice echoing off the walls.
"Hi, Karrin," Emile's voice crackled through the line. "You free from your lecture?"
"Yup," I replied, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I'm just leaving the lecture hall."
"Good," Emile said. "Remember our meeting with the L&P ambassador to sign the contract?"
My frustration bubbled up. "Oh, right. If they waste my time again today, I swear—"
"They won't," Emile assured me. "They promised."
"Okay," I said, my resolve firm. "Meet you in an hour."
"Good. Bye."
"Bye." I hung up, my mind already racing through the upcoming negotiation. As I stepped out into the sunlight, I wondered if this contract would finally be the breakthrough I needed. And maybe—just maybe—I wouldn't be alone in celebrating it.
The world blurred around me, a cacophony of colors and shapes merging into a chaotic dance. Just moments ago, I had been lost in my thoughts, and then someone's hand—no, a desperate grip—yanked me from my reverie. Instincts honed by years of clandestine training kicked in. Without hesitation, I twisted, my fingers locking around the intruder's arm. Momentum carried us both, and the ground rushed up to meet us.
"Karrin, it's me." The voice cut through the haze, and I blinked, disoriented. The figure sprawled on the pavement, dust clinging to his clothes.
Justen Lindle—a perpetual nuisance, always lurking where he didn't belong. A fellow lecture attendee, his curiosity matched only by his persistence.
He stood, brushing off imaginary dirt. "Well, it's me," he repeated, as if that explained everything.
"What is it?" I asked, my patience fraying. Time was a precious commodity, and Justen had a knack for wasting it.
"Just listen." His words tumbled out, a torrent of half-formed sentences. Last night, friends, breakfast, bakery—the details blurred together. I sighed, urging him to get to the point.
"Ah, right," he said, finally catching his breath. "I bought breakfast, and there's a slice of chocolate cake for you."
"No, thank you." I pushed the proffered cake back toward him. My stomach rumbled, but I had no time for indulgences.
"Just try it," he insisted, shoving the box into my hands. Why was he so insistent today? Perhaps the universe conspired to test my patience.
"Fine." I accepted the cake, slipping into the car. The engine roared to life, and I merged onto the highway.
The chocolate slice beckoned, its sweet promise tempting me. I tore off a bite, savoring the richness. Just a moment of pleasure amidst the chaos.
But then my eyelids grew heavy, and the road blurred. Panic surged—I couldn't afford to lose control. A call interrupted my descent into darkness.
"Hello?" a voice wavered.
"Brother?"
"Is everything alright?" The concern in his tone cut through the haze.
"I…" my hesitation echoed my own uncertainty.
"Where are you? What are you doing?" he needed clarity.
"I'm driving."
"Stop the car," he commanded.
"Stop?" my head swam. "Right, stop." I veered toward the shoulder, heart pounding. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow. My temples throbbed, and I tasted copper—blood, perhaps—from biting my lip.
The impact came without warning. Metal crumpled, glass shattered, and pain exploded across my face. The airbag deployed, cocooning her in a cloud of white. Blood dripped from my forehead, mixing with tears. I tried to move, but my limbs felt distant, disconnected.
"Karrin?" His voice, distant yet urgent.
"Are you alright?" His words blurred, merging with the throbbing ache.
"Am I going to die once again?"
The question slipped from my lips, raw and unbidden. Memories of another crash, another darkness, haunted me.
Justen's face swam into view …the cake? "No, "I whispered. "Not this time."
And the world faded