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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The rhythmic chime of the heart monitor echoes within the small room, the only sound audible in the sterile environment. A small girl lies upon her assigned bed, breathing steadily along with the machine. A slight smile perches itself on her lips, putting her mind at ease. She sleeps peacefully, lying perfectly still and straight, due to assorted needles inserted inside of her arms.

You͏’̴ll̢ be͜ a͠l͟one ͏fo͠r̷e͝v̕er,̛ ̕C͏as̴sié.̡

Cassandra jerks awake, her body trembling. She stares off blankly into the wall facing her, harboring a small LCD flat screen, producing faint amounts of static. She sighs as she reaches for the controller. It must’ve been her imagination from that stupid television.

Feeling around on the generic wooden end table, she picks up the small black remote and clicks the power button.

Strangely, the TV does nothing.

Cassandra looks down again at the object in question, wondering if she had pressed the wrong button. Slowly, she looks over the rather simplified controls.

Volume up and down.

Channel up and down.

Mute button.

Power button.

Yep, she definitely pressed the correct one.

Peering back up at the screen above her, she clicks it again, and again, and again, until she finally realizes that the remote is broken. Grumbling, she glares at the telephone at her bedside and dials in the given number.

Brrring! Brrring! Brrring! Click.

“Excuse me, Nurse Merryweather?” Cassandra asks in her best customer service voice. “Could you please send somebody up to turn off the TV? My remote seems to be broken.”


The loud blaring static on the other line forces the small girl to scream and throw the cheap plastic phone across the room, shattering it against the manilla colored wall near the window.

“What the hell?”

Cassandra glances around the rest of the room, her heart racing. Eventually, her eyes drift over to the monitor. It was as quiet as ever. No static.

However, it had stopped beeping.

Without hesitation, she rips out the needles in her arms, only producing slight whimpers of pain. She tosses them carelessly to the floor. There was no need for a machine that didn’t work, and frankly, she didn’t want to go through another anxiety attack due to her terrible case of trypanophobia.

Cassandra uses the bedsheets to wipe off her appendages, which are now covered in tiny beads of blood, formed at the puncture wounds. She then throws them atop the scattered needles, and swiftly swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“Oh dear lord,” she groans.

The girl didn’t realize how groggy she would be.

Slowly but surely, Cassandra lifts herself off of the bed, stumbling slightly. She takes her time, regaining balance on each foot, until a few minutes later, she finds herself able to trod sluggishly across the floor. She walks into the bathroom next to the bed, gripping the door handle tightly and trudging inside.

She looks up at the mirror and gasps.

Cassandras dark hair was matted beyond compare, making her look like a stray animal begging for food. Her eyes held a glare that screamed tired and weak, the chocolate orbs shifting nervously as she gazes upon the rest of her appearance. The daisy pink hospital gown she wore was tattered and filthy, and with a few holes in some questionable locations, she felt open and exposed to the world.  Her eyes fixate on her trembling hands, the dark skin dirtied presumably from lying in bed for days— no, weeks— without waking up.

The small girl reaches in to wash off her hands, thinking that if she can’t take the time to shower, she can at least do this. She turns the right knob quickly.

Not even a drop of water.

Cassandra buries her head in her hands. What is happening? Is this some sort of sick joke? Tears spill from her eyes as she questions her own sanity.

She sits upon the ledge of the bathtub and cries for a few minutes, before wiping her face with a mildew covered towel, and finally walking out of the bathroom.

Looking closer, she realizes how busted up all of the furnishings are in her room. Scratches along every wooden surface, water spots in various locations around the ceiling, ripped up cushions on the window bench, even a chair jammed underneath of the main door handles.

Cassandra stiffens at the sight of the makeshift barricade. She steps farther and farther towards the doorway, despite her obvious fear. Cautiously, she grasps the chair and tugs it, creating a loud clamour towards the floor. Her curiosity gets the best of her as she opens the door, her mind greedy for answers, yet her soul scared out of its wits. Eyes shut tight, prepared for whatever might be waiting for her outside, she pushes the door open with minimal effort.

Absolutely nothing.

The girl blinks slowly, monitoring activity in the corridor for a good five minutes in complete silence, until ultimately deciding that nothing was out to get her.

At least, not in this hallway.

Of course, it was hard to tell whether or not she really was safe, due to inadequate lighting, and the poor judgement of a frightened teenager.

Cassandra paces slowly out of her room, keeping low to the ground.

“Hello? Is… is anyone… there?” she questions, her voice echoing out into nothingness.

After garnering no response, she straightens herself up, walking with as much bravery as she could down the mucky corridor. As she walks, Cassandra notices three things:

One; the only thing giving this section of the hospital any form of light are the windows along the walls.

Two; these particular windows are shattered beyond compare.

And, three; the walls are oosing some form of black sludge.

Her walk quickly turns into a brisk run.

The halls seem never ending as Cassandra flutters up and down the building. She can’t find any working elevators, nor can she find any staircases located directly near one another. As soon as she figured out the layout of one floor, she had to start all over again.

She tried to warn her mother against making her get a room on the top floor.

No matter where she was at, Cassandra felt like she was going in the same circle over and over again, despite knowing that she was going down various flights of stairs. With no signs indicating the current story level, the light dimming ever so slightly with each flustered moment spent rushing around, and better yet, nobody to ask for help, she felt like this was the end.

She was trapped like a lab rat in a maze with no exits.

Just as the last of her hope started to dwindle away, she had found the final staircase. It was brighter than the others, presumably because it led into the lobby. Cassandra’s weak knees trembled as she leaned against the wall leading her downwards. Just a few more steps, she thought, and I’ll be free. She counted them down in her head, as if she were the entirety of the mission control panel at NASA.

Five…. Four….

Her breaths begin flowing out of her body rapidly.


Closer and closer to the end of her journey.


Any second now, and she would be able to get help.


This is it.

Blast off.

As Cassandra finally reaches the last floor, she lets out a cry of pain. The lobby was completely filled, whether it be the flora and fauna jutting out of the floor panels, the vines covering all of the bland white walls, or the rancid stench of… something… that she couldn’t quite put her finger on top of. The only thing noticeable that wasn’t completely covered was the front desk by the revolving doors, which were also trapped behind various chairs and couches which had presumably been pushed there. She runs deep into the plant life without thinking, only sobs escaping from her mouth.

She had to know what was at that desk. It seemed like the only safe place she could go. Maybe somebody was hiding there! Maybe they could help her!

After fighting her way through at least 50 feet of greenery, she reaches the desk. It barely trumps her in size, making the granite slabbed counter about 5 feet up. Judging by the height, it would be assumed that there was a tall chair behind it as well, although Cassandra saw several taller chairs blockading the exits. While it was strange to need to have a surface this tall in a hospital, she didn’t care. She didn’t have time to waste.

Yet again, the tiny girl fights her way through some vines to open up the small gate to get inside the enclosed area.

It was at this moment that Cassandra found the source of the smell.

A pile of bones and gore laid behind the safety of the counter. The small girl choked back her own vomit and turned away, as the stench hit her nose like a garbage truck. Stifling back a few more nausea filled burps, she turned back around to examine it, plugging up her nose in the process. It was hard to tell how long it had been since the meat had decayed off of the aforementioned bones, but alas, that didn’t matter. The most scary thing about this crime scene, she figured, was the fact that it was organized. All of the rotting flesh was tucked away underneath of the hollowness of the desk, while the bones were arranged by shape, size, and… color?

Upon realizing this, Cassandra tried to hurl the contents of her stomach, but to no avail. Instead, she dry heaved over the mass of meat and bones, probably due to the fact that she hadn’t eaten in days— no, it was definitely weeks at this point— and there was literally nothing inside her cavern of a stomach.

“Why…?” she whimpers. “What have I done to… to deserve this?”

More heaving follows as she weeps over the countless bodies.

“I’m so… sorry….”

She turns away once more, this time falling to her hands and knees, and crawls out from behind the pit of death. Small trails of blood follow her as she scoots towards the exit.

I have to get out of this hell hole. I have to escape.

Cassandra repeats affirming thoughts to herself as she inches towards her goal.

This isn’t normal.

This isn’t your fault.

Don’t cry, Cass. Don’t cry.

She skitters across the floor, frenzied, trying to reach the barricades before she snaps completely.

You’re almost out. You’re almost free.

Her small body crashes against one of the couches holding her hostage. With an abnormal amount of strength, she pushes it out of the way completely, the adrenaline rushing to her brain and showing itself through her actions. She barrels out the door, and in one swift movement, is placed outside, into the half-lit parking lot.

Cassandra lands on one knee, her head turned towards the ground, and her arms supporting her weight. She stays put for a while, allowing her breaths to return to a normal speed. She steadily lifts her head up to look out across the horizon. Her face emits a beam brighter than any sun in the galaxy.

She is free.

Cassandra pulls herself up and runs across the blacktop, shouting various vulgar expletives with glee.

“I MADE IT! I DID IT! Oh my, GOD! I’M OUT! I’m… I’m….”

She stops to catch her breath, but not before registering that she was still alone.

“I’m… lost?”

As her pace lowers, she begins to take in her surroundings.

Dead bodies line the streets. Hundreds, thousands of them. All of them killed within the last day or two. All of them mangled into incoherent messes.

All of them, she knew.

“No!” she screams, crashing to the ground. “No! NO! NO, NO, NO!”

Faces of people she’s seen at school. Faces of acquaintances. Friends. Best friends. Family members. Even neighbors.

All of them were dead.

The small girl lurches over, yet again crawling across the pavement. Her eyes meet with those of her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Lin, who practically raised her. Her best friend since kindergarden, Selena. Her younger siblings. Her exes.

Her mother, with her throat ripped clean out, and her face staring ahead, cold, blank, and expressionless.

Chunks of stomach bile erupt from the girl’s mouth, spilling across the asphalt. The only thing that can be heard for miles is her wailing.

Her cries continue into the night, for hours on end. She cries for only herself, now. Curled up into a fetal position, she whimpers until she finally falls asleep in a pool of her loved one’s blood and her own vomit, the smell mixing into a putrid fiesta of agony and death.

Hours pass, and Cassandra is shaken awake. As her eyes flutter open, she is greeted to a black figure with a wide, white smile, which is almost cartoon-like.

“Who… what… are you…,” she mutters, absently blinking at the thing before her.

“Why, dear,” it replies chipperly, “I’m you!”

“Leave me alone,” she croaks, closing her eyes in defeat.

“Ah, ah, ah,” it giggles, “Not so fast!”

It grips Cassandra’s arms in it’s own, pulling her up with an inhuman strength. The small girl lets out a scream of torture.

“Stop! Stop, please! I’ll get up!”

“Now THAT’S the spirit!” it smiles, letting go of its death grip.

“What do you want?” Cassandra asks angrily, “Why didn’t you come to help me when I woke up in this mess of a universe?”

“Oh…,” it chuckles, “Sweetie, I did help us.”

Cassandra’s eyes widen in shock.

“What did you do? What did you do to them? What did you do to me?” she howls.

The figure bends over from laughing strenuously.

“Oh my god, this is so priceless!” It bellows. “Honey, I didn’t do anything! This was all you!”

“What the hell you do mean?” She growls, lunging towards the thing.

It simply slips to the side, causing Cassandra to fall to the ground in a pitiful hump. As the tiny girl turns around to get up, the figure presses its foot against her chest, keeping her locked in place.

“My precious child…,” it begins, “don’t you see that we’re worthless to these people?”


“We’re absolutely pathetic. We don’t belong on the Earth anymore… can’t you see that?”

“That… that isn’t true!” Cassandra retaliates.

“Since we mean nothing to them… why shouldn’t they cease to exist?” It ponders, ignoring the girls statements. “If we don’t matter, they don’t matter.”

It smiles at Cassandra as she chokes back tears.

“You’re wrong!” she says. “You’re… you’re lying to me! I do matter! They matter!”

“Oh, really?”

It leans in closer to Cassandra, leaving little to no space between them. It grips onto her chin, giving her a full view of its face. Dark, soulless eyes. Black ooze dripping from its pale white mouth. Jagged teeth filling its smirk in every direction imaginable.

“Then how come you tried to kill yourself?”


Cassandra’s body starts convulsing rapidly. Doctors enter the room, frantically waking up her tired mother, who was sleeping on the sofa nearby.

“She’s going into epileptic shock!”

“Somebody make her bed level!”

“Mrs. Solita, please, for the love of god, wake up!”

Mrs. Solita awakes with a jolt.

“Is it happening again?”

“Yes, yes, god! It isn’t dying down this time!”

One of the doctors is screaming at a nurse who is trying to hold the small girl down.

“You’ll injure the patient, you idiot!”

The room is filled with yelling and arguing voices, all the while Cassandra’s mother stands idly by. She rests her head in her hands as she weeps, tears soaking her already soiled blouse. It had been months since her daughter had arrived here, and there was little to no hope left in the tiny woman.

Cassandra’s body continues to thrash about, her movements violent, as her limbs flail every which way. Foam forms around her mouth, dripping to the floor and the bedsheets, respectively. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly, and shows no signs of stopping.

Until it does.

Mrs. Solita looks up just as her little girl flat lines.

The once rambunctious room turns silent in an instant, with all eyes cast upon the dark girl lying limp in bed. Her mother lifts herself up off of the couch, trudging closer to her beloved.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Solita,” a doctor begins, “we did everything we could.”

Another delivers the words that no mother ever wishes to hear.

“She’s gone.”


“Cassandra was a beautiful girl….”

Mrs. Solita stands at the podium, her body adorned in black.

“The best daughter I could ever ask for.”

Tears seep from her eyes as she looks across the room.

“In fact, she was loved by everybody.”

She gives a slight smile before looking back down mournfully at her speech.

“Everybody… but herself.”

Her eyes flicker back up to the crowd.

“My baby had struggled with multiple mental disorders in her short time here on Earth. But she never let them get the best of her. Whether it be her schizophrenia, her epilepsy, or her depression. She always put her best foot forward. She treated everybody with kindness and respect. She was truly the most special girl in the world.”

She holds back a sob.

“Until one day…,”

She puts a hand up to her face to wipe her cheeks.

“… she just couldn’t handle herself anymore.”

Mrs. Solita looks over to the wrinkled face of Mrs. Lin, who was also struggling to keep her emotions inside.

“I remember walking in on her when she rolled the last pill bottle across the floor. She had downed three entire bottles. Three bottles of painkillers.”

The paper the speech was written on is soaked.

“I didn’t even remember buying two of them.”

She speaks straight from the heart.

“I rushed her to the hospital as soon as I saw her. And I thought that I could save her. But I was only half correct.”

She looks over to the casket, which was covered in beautiful pink lace.

“She was in a coma for nearly a month before her epilepsy took her for good.”

Cassandra’s mother looks back down at the tear stained paper.

“I’ll never know what she was thinking during that time, or what she thought of before she died…,”

She takes one final look at Cassandra’s friends and family.

“… but I like to think that it was all happy thoughts.”

Mrs. Solita steps off of the podium, and saunters over to the open casket. Cassandra lies there peacefully, her head surrounded by gorgeous pink daisies. Her mother rubs one of her scar infested wrists, lifts it to her lips, and kisses it tenderly. Slowly, she returns to her seat, as the funeral comes to a close.

And with that, Cassandra is alone.