A Strange Ceiling

t’s curious how the only time I’ve ever woken up staring at a white ceiling was the time I was hospitalized after eating something—I don’t remember exactly what it was, only that it made me terribly sick. The doctors said it was food poisoning.

The smell here is similar.

Yes. Hospital smell.

That ambiguous scent.

I looked down at my torso.

A gown?

Yes, I was wearing one. It was far too soft to belong to just any hospital.

Beside me, on a small bedside table, a note rested next to an apple.

I picked it up.

“Get well.”

I suppose that’s what I’ll do.

I took a bite of the fruit, and after a few more, decided to leave the room.

Wandering through the hallways, I passed a few doctors and nurses.

Very few patients.

For a hospital, it was emptier than I expected.

I turned my head, looking for the exit. Screens lined the walls, displaying health advisories. In the corner of each one, a name appeared:

Sanfer Hospital.

That made sense.

The low number of patients must be because of the cost.

People would rather wait hours at the public hospital.

Some don’t even make it to the consultation room.

“My parents are going to kill me.”

How much is my hospitalization going to cost? I hope they offer payment plans. I don’t want to be punished for this.

Now I’ll have to explain how I got here. Who shot me. What we saw…

So many things I don’t want to remember.

I sat on one of the reception benches.

It all felt like a dream.

A nightmare, rather.

Little by little, I devoured every last piece of the apple until only the core remained.

The memories resurfaced.

Iris.

Where is Iris?

I approached the receptionist and asked about her.

She told me I had been left at the hospital entrance. Security said a man brought me—but it was only me. No one else.

So that means Iris…

No.

That’s not possible.

She must be somewhere.

Maybe they captured her.

That’s what I hope happened.

I stepped outside into the courtyard. A hospital this expensive would obviously have a pleasant place to rest.

The sunlight blurred my vision. It seemed close to noon.

Wait.

Noon?

I’ve been here since yesterday morning.

Of course.

I just hadn’t realized it until now.

God.

My parents.

How do I explain all of this?

Worse—how do I explain it to Iris’s parents?

I let out a sigh.

I had probably ruined my entire year.

Me.

Iris.

Those boys.

Assuming everything was already lost, I headed toward the exit.

As I crossed the threshold, one of the nurses approached me.

“I see you’re feeling better,” she said, handing me a key. “Go home. She’ll tell you what to do with this.”

It was large, with a reddish cross engraved into it. The craftsmanship was flawless.

With the sun high above, I made my way home.

My legs trembled.

They must have called my parents. It’s protocol, right?

So all that remained was to endure the argument waiting for me.

“I’m home.”

I dragged my feet as I entered.

It was strange that no one answered.

The house felt deserted.

Until I stepped into the first room.

A figure waited in the center.

“You took your time.”

I froze.

I didn’t expect to hear that voice again.

Even with my voice trembling, I forced myself to speak.

“Tell me your name.”

She stood up.

She was about four heads taller than me—imposing.

“Katlen,” she replied, extending her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Cloe.”

“Where are my parents?”

“Asleep,” she said calmly—too calmly.

We went upstairs. They were in their bedroom.

Their snoring confirmed it.

“They’ll wake up once I leave.”

We returned to the living room and sat facing each other.

The tension was thick in the air.

“What happened to the others?”

“Oh, the rest…” A trace of discomfort flickered across her face. “Most of them—at least three—died instantly.”

It was to be expected.

I just needed confirmation.

“And Iris? Is she okay?”

“First of all, she’s alive.” She paused. “Second… I don’t think you’ll want to see her. Not yet.”

She rose from her seat, leaned closer to me, and with a faint smile whispered:

“She’s no longer human."