Adventures in Happiness, with your Host, Nur Nat!

I am in a large rectangular room with plain, stark, white walls. The only adornments are a pack of medical gloves, what looks to be a heart monitor or defibrillator, some sort of anesthesia machine with many winding and spiraling tubes, along with the other usual hospital equipment you would find in any room. I can feel the sharp, blaring surgical lights above me and the dry mask over my face. The whole area seems empty, regardless of the sharp medical tools covering every surface I can see. 

The second I open my eyes, there is a long moment of silence and calm. I look around, my senses barely beginning to register the world around me. As soon as I take a breath, my mind is bombarded with stimulation, the scorching bitter scent of the alcohol racing up my nose and down my throat, the stiff blanket under me, and the blinding contrast of the colorful tendrils of hair falling in front of my eyes with the sterile room. I sit up quickly and rip off the wires stuck on my collar and stomach, ignoring the stabbing pain in my right arm and the sparkles in my vision, while throwing my legs over the side of the bed. 

A familiar air enters the room; I can sense something or someone new appearing. I'm unsure when or how they got in, but I feel as if they have always been there, simply out of sight, watching all and knowing all that I see and think before I am aware of it. I see the same type of frizzy, ginger mess that covers my eyes, the same yellowing eyes I look out of, the pink lips, the round face, and the pointy nose, all residing on the face of the stranger who entered. They had a glossy yet intimate stare; they aren't looking at me, at least I hope not. Everything about them is so irregular, that it almost blends in with my other fantasies. The only reason I could assume they are real is because I have to; believing in what I see is much easier than what I can deduce over time, but, I am not yet ready to complicate the already startling situation.

The ring of their colorful and childlike voice against the dull room whips me out of my thoughts, the innocence of their question is as refreshing as it is odd in the current environment.

"My real name is quite long and hard to say, you can just call me Nur Nat. Who're you?" inquires Nur Nat, still holding that shallow, ethereal stare. 

After examining their face, my gaze drags down to their clothing, a completely white, tight, button-up dress that barely reaches below their knees. That is, by far, the most usual part of their outfit. Then there are the vermilion boots, a classic type of children's rain boots; the rubber is fluorescent and painfully eye-catching. During the pause I take to further assess Nur Nat, they were looking around the hospital room, seemingly in awe of the various tools and the medical machinery. Finally, I chose to respond to their question,

"My name is V, V. Reykur, a pleasure to meet you . . . u-uh, Nur Nat . . ." I take in their appearance once more, scrolling through my mind to try and remember if we were ever acquainted. As I ponder, Nur Nat begins to further approach, standing directly in front of where I sit in a leaning position on the hospital bed. They glance up at my face for a moment, and then, with a particular morbid innocence, ask:

"What are all those tubes for?"

"Oh . . . I am not quite sure. I can imagine some are to check my vitals, but I do not know what they are feeding into me directly with these . . ." I hold up my arm slightly, showing my inner elbow where the needle is taped. The IV pouch appears to be filled with a thick, reddish, syrup-like substance, that is clearly a synthetic hue of red meaning it couldn't be blood.

"Why are you just sitting there? Aren't you gonna look around? Figure out where you are. Do, well, really anything but sit?" chimes in Nur Nat; their voice holding a not quite as subtle as an intended jab of impatience.

Realizing my incognizant approach to the situation, I look up to Nur Nat, who is standing over me, as if looking for some form of guidance or advice. My mind is just as vacant as theirs, ready to consume any form of logic or theory to explain the odd circumstances. Looking into their eyes, there is an abnormal undertone of something I can only place as a twisted form of disappointed pity, like how you might look at a failed science experiment. With a single nod and turn, I understand what is wanted from me, I shakily stand up from the hospital bed, letting the intravenous pole follow along with my body. Wordlessly, I follow Nur Nat out of the room, their face turned forward, away from me, with a childlike curiosity following every single new object as we move to exit the room.

"Let's play a game, follow me" they cheerfully demand. Who am I to question; so I listen and continue following the instructions. I trail Nur Nat's practiced jig through the hospital with my own dragging attempts at strides. 

The halls have pallid walls, with sad linear patterns along them. The dim lights and the quiet buzz of electronics follow us down the corridor like a lonely moth stuck in a trap. Frigidity encircles my heels and ankles as we continue down the shiny floors of the hospital. The silence is overwhelmingly loud for my half-baked fears that circle the remainder of my common sense. Eventually, after a couple of anguishingly long minutes, Nur Nat comes to a pause. I give them an inquisitive glance that they most likely do not notice considering they are still facing forward towards the end of the hall.

"You can handle this on your own, be smart, don't mess this up too much for us" hisses Nur Nat, with a slightly miffed scowl. They then disappear around the corner, with a light scoff and a quick glance to make sure I am prepared for whatever is around the bend. I take in a deep breath of the stiff, sanitized air, grimacing lightly at how the stale oxygen further adds to the tickling and tingling warmth along the lines of my palm. I blink my vision in and out and wiggle my fingers a little to restore their feeling. After a long moment of preparation, I round the corner, walking into the modest-sized waiting room. To my surprise the room is perfectly silent and empty, the walls are an odd Barbie pink, too cheerful for most adult hospitals. Standard waiting room chairs line the wall and around the singular pillar in the center room. The chairs are gray with a small rounded back, they look as rough and rigid as a splintering veranda, further adding to my previous discomfort of being in the lonely room. I silently take in the surroundings, my mind pounding with the sound of my scampering heartbeat and the gulp of antiseptic-flavored air.