You find yourself waking up in a strange place, one with walls of purple and beige and ceilings as high as can be. You’re resting on your back in a comfortable bed, and bright fluorescent lights are shining into your eyes from overhead. An open book flipped upside down sits next to you, as well as a couple of empty cans of Dr. Clopper soda and a half eaten plate of food that once contained leafy greens and fish.
The room is on the smaller side, but it’s comfortable enough. There’s a radio and a record player on a table next to you, and a shelf of many books sitting to your back. They range from unknown titles like The Hunger Games trilogy and Eragon, to the more recognizable ones, such as The Adventures of Shadow Spade and Alien Alicorns vs. Space Pirates. There are two open doors to the left of the bed, one containing a closet full of clothes and boardgames and the other showing off a shower and bathtub. There’s also an electric alarm clock sitting on another table near a third door, one that presumably leads out of the room into a hallway. It’s next to a pill organizer that’s half empty, with the cases for the days Sunday to Wednesday empty. This suggests it’s either two o’clock in the afternoon Wednesday or Thursday.
You don’t actually feel that tired or groggy, even considering you just woke up. Beyond the sudden transition to reality, nothing seems to suggest you were actually sleeping. Perhaps you were daydreaming? Or just spacing out again. This room isn’t completely unfamiliar, you think, but it’s not entirely recognizable either. It makes you only slightly nervous.
You push yourself out of the bed and stand up, wobbling a bit unsteadily for a moment as you do. It feels like you’ve been laying in bed for longer than just a morning—more like all morning and all night yesterday. But you easily steady yourself and get moving toward the door. Left foot first, then right; how hard could the familiar process be?
It’s only a few moments before you’re grabbing at the doorknob with a hand—how long has it been since you trimmed your nails? You could poke someone’s eye out with them if you’re not careful—and find the door locked from the outside. A wave of panic suddenly shoots through your body as the question finally hits you: what exactly is going on? You don't belong locked in this room! At least, you're fairly certain of that. This place does look familiar, but familiarity isn't enough to convince you that this is right! How did you get here?
You knock loudly on the door, hoping that someone on the other side will be able to hear you. “Uh, excuse me?” you call out, your voice slightly scratchy as you speak in a high tenor. “I don't think I'm supposed to be in here?” you get out nervously. “Can someone help me?”
No one answers immediately, but after a few seconds, you can hear a fumbling of the lock as the knob twists. You're barely able to step backwards out of the way before the door swings open, only an inch from smacking you in the face. That would've hurt.
The outside hallway is covered with the same purple and beige paint on the walls as lines your room. There are other rooms you can see out there, each with a number and a name printed on the door. Sixteen–Russell, Eighteen–Amber Light, Twenty–Billowing Breeze, Twenty-Two–Gloria. A quick glance shows it continues on both sides, with probably fifty doors in this hallway alone. Where the heck are you? You’re fairly certain you don’t remember walls of this color and those names on the doors.
A dark skinned girl—a human, obviously—is there to greet you. She has braided hair and long eyelashes, with just a touch of makeup on her face. She wears a chain around her neck and a ring on her finger, and has eyes of the brightest blue you’ve ever seen shining back at you. In a word, she’s pretty. Somehow, it feels wrong to say, but you’re not entirely sure why. It makes you feel slightly guilty anyway.
She's naked, but you don't really mind somehow. You're naked, too. Then again, her skin is bare, whereas you have dark green and brown feathers that cover most of your body. It's not really a fair comparison.
She's not entirely without clothing though. She is wearing a sleeveless white lab coat, one with a name tag positioned just above her breast. Doctor Dashayla Collins, MD, it reads. It provides a little information about what the situation might be. You're pretty sure she's not a surgeon, judging by the room you're staying in. Do they even employ surgeons here? Probably not.
“Hey,” she greets politely, flashing perfect white teeth inside a bright smile. “What are you needing help with?”
There’s more professionalism in her voice than there is friendliness, but you don’t particularly mind. Why would you? You don’t even know her. She’s definitely less recognizable than the room you’re staying in.
“Uhhh, why was… the door locked?” you ask with a tilt of your head, the question superseding all others that invade your curiosity. “And how did you hear me knocking so quickly?”
She laughs lightly at that, but you’re not sure if it’s because she actually thinks it's funny or just out of courtesy. “I was just passing through when you started knocking,” she explains kindly. “As for why your door is locked,” she continues, “that’s a question only you can answer. You must have locked it before and not remember. Do you have the key?”
“Uhhh…” You scratch your scalp, unsure. You certainly feel like you should have a key. How else were you supposed to get out, supposing this girl, Doctor Collins, didn’t stop by?
“I'm guessing that's a no,” she laughs lightly. “I'll have maintenance get you one while you’re staying down here, so you’re not trapped inside all day. How does that sound?”
“You… you're a human, aren't you?” you tell her, pointing a talon at her, almost accusingly. This particular human doesn't look familiar, but you know what humans are supposed to look like generally. Kind of like you, except they have smoother skin and broad, flat nails. No beaks either, of course. They're kind of creepy looking actually, although this one is pretty, you guess.
“That I am!” she agrees brightly, flashing a golden smile your way before putting on a more sheepish expression. “Of course, if you're not comfortable with that, I can look for someone else to help you with whatever you’re needing. I'm not sure we have any purely avian doctors around here, but a griffon should be fine, right?”
“It’s fine!” you quickly stop her, holding out a hand for emphasis. “I don’t mind! I just…” You trail off, not sure exactly what you want to say.
Doctor Collins tilts her head curiously. “Just what?”
“I’m not sure,” you sigh as you slump your shoulders. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see a human?” It sounds weird when you say it like that. She doesn’t seem to understand, but you glance down at your feet anyway, carefully scratching a talon against the ground.
“I’m sorry,” you get out quietly.
“You're absolutely fine,” she tells you, using a hand to gently brush the feathers on your shoulder. “I'm sure I'm not who you expected to see. Doctor Sparkle is going to be out again today, so I'm filling in for her duties. I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow though, or on Friday at the latest.”
That name is much more recognizable to you than this girl is. “That's… Doctor Twilight Sparkle, right?” you ask, curiously. “She'll be back soon?”
Doctor Collins is smiling at you again. “That's right,” she assures you before finally pulling her hand back. “I was actually coming by to get ready for group therapy. It's going to start at two thirty today, instead of four o'clock.” Then she asks, “What were you needing help with though?”
You're not exactly sure, and look away again, feeling slightly ashamed. Everything feels correct, you think, but… not exactly? What the heck was a human doing here? Not to mention, this isn't your room, as far as you know. You wrap an arm around yourself and flex your wings reflexively, subconsciously displaying your discomfort.
You're feeling like a little kid lost in a supermarket without your mother. “I don't think I'm supposed to be here,” you say. “None of my stuff is in here. My pictures, my harp, my tablet—none of it. I don't think this is my room. And you're a human.” You didn't even know humans were patients here, let alone worked here.
Doctor Collins stares at you with those bright green eyes, wearing a curious look on her face. She's waiting for you to continue. You're not sure what else to say, and shift around nervously, rustling your feathers.
“I didn't wake up today,” you finally finish. “Well, I woke up, but I don't remember it… I think I was spacing out. I don't remember anything after lights out last night…” It feels scary to admit, although you're unsure entirely why. Maybe you feel like you'll get in trouble? As silly an idea as it is.
She nods politely, then flips through her clipboard for a moment before turning her eyes back up to you. “It can be scary,” she says, “but it'll be okay. I'm here for you, and so are the other doctors and nurses.”
“I know,” you say quietly, “but it… it's still strange.” You feel like you're about to cry, but are somehow able to keep yourself steady. “I don't want to keep forgetting things, and not knowing what's going on.” You feel like that's been happening a lot lately. Like that dream you have about being a human sometimes. How strange would that be? You don't know what you'd do if you didn't have your feathers.
“I understand,” she says sympathetically. “It can be very scary.” Doctor Collins pauses for a moment, then continues, “But you're taking your medication every day, right?” You nod and hum a slight confirmation, and she asks, “You remember what happened yesterday too, right?”
“Yeah?” you agree. “I went to the pool with Spalding and Lily Leaf, because Doctor Sparkle told me before that friendship will help me to remember more things.”
“And you remember the day before that too, right?” Doctor Collins is smirking at you now, and has a hand on her hip. She knows the answer, of course. You smirk, too.
“Yeah, I do,” you nod. Then you frown again. “I don't remember this morning though,” you tell her. “I don't think I'm supposed to be in this room. I don't remember moving down here. It's like- like… like I just kind of popped into existence a few minutes ago. And I definitely don't remember you.”
“You're usually on the third floor, with Doctor Sparkle,” she explained, “but like I said, she's been out for the last couple of days, so you're down here with me until she gets back. But I promise she'll be back soon.” It’s a satisfying enough answer, even if you don't remember that happening. It makes sense to you, at least.
“And I lost my key…” you sigh. “Again.”
“There'll be bad days,” she tells you. “And it'll be scary. But everything I'm reading in Doctor Sparkle’s notes says your memories are coming back, and more importantly, your short and long term memory is getting better week after week. It’s remarkable, actually. You're getting better quickly! And that's a good thing.”
You don't believe it; it feels like a lot of days are hard because of your condition. But maybe those hard days are happening less and less? Doctor Collins certainly seems to believe what her clipboard says, and Doctor Sparkle is the best doctor you know. If any creature could help your memory, she could. Maybe you are getting better, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.
“I don't believe you…” you admit, then sigh, and say, “but I trust you. Even though I don’t know you.”
She smiles again—somehow, she looks kinder than the Element of Kindness when she does—and says decisively, “I'm glad you trust me. It’s getting better for you. I promise.” Then she turns to head down the hallway, asking, “Do you want to help me set up for group therapy today?”
“Not really,” you admit. “Can I go outside and fly?”
The doctor nods, and before you know it, you're soaring through the sky, wings stretched out as the wind hits your feathers. It helps you feel better.
Author's Note
I wrote this on a whim after thinking about the unsettling nature of Slay The Princess. I hope you enjoy it.
Maybe I'll write more chapters. Maybe not. I don't know.
