C.M. Stunich

Chapter One

From the very first moment we come into this world, it's a struggle to survive. A rough and tumble journey of epic proportions awaits us, taunts us, even as we lie there wet and scared, mouths open to cry, eyes squinched shut with tears. It's a gasping breath of surprise that escapes us then, a strange, forgotten memory where we all wonder what we've gotten ourselves into.

It's no different the second time.

When my mouth opens and I gasp for breath, my eyes flicker open and I see nothing but white light. It cascades down around me like rain, opening me up to my rebirth, pulling me into this world by force.

“Claire?”

There are voices, more than one, I think, but I can only pick out that one, single word. I'm like a newborn in every way; I've even lost my vocabulary. Hands are touching me, I think, but I'm not sure because I'm still stuck halfway in the womb of the world, and I'm trying to push my way out. My arms and legs feel heavy, like they're filled with sand, and my head is thumping hard, pulsing as it draws desperately from blood that isn't mine, sucks it up into a tube and pulls it inside of me.

I start to struggle.

Like a babe, I kick, and I scream, and I want to know why I'm here and how I got here and who was cruel enough to put me here.

Red blood dripping across white tiles, staining them crimson. Wet moistness everywhere, coating me, dragging me down. Glass clattering, tinkling like wind chimes.

I fight to breathe as the light breaks into pieces around me, shatters like glass and stabs my eyes with hot darts of pain.

“Claire?”

That one word, that voice.

At least there's something that I know: Emmett Sinclair. Even in this daze, I recognize that sound. Somehow, I know that he isn't really there, that I'm drawing on memories instead of reality. The voices around me are free of emotion, clinical, talking about blood loss and vital signs and a bunch of other shit that means nothing to me then. Nothing.

Emmett Sinclair.

I don't remember who he is to me exactly or where I met him or what happened between us, but I do recognize the sound of his voice.

“Claire, are you alright? Do you need some help?”

Yes, I whisper this time. Yes. I tell the truth, and I think my lips actually move, form the word and push it out into space. Yes, I need help. Can you help me? Will you help me?

“Claire, even when you think there's only one road to your destination, you can always find a scenic detour.”

I try to lift my arms, so I can sit up, but I can't move them. My mouth opens again and lets forth another cry as I gasp for breath and collapse into the hospital bed.

The blood loss takes over and I pass out.