Chance
BY: Penn Lamb.
February 20, 2009.
8th grade.
BY: Penn Lamb.
February 20, 2009.
8th grade.
Dear Hazel,
We are so sorry that we forced you to leave, honey, but it’s for the best. Your fear of blood and hospitals desperately needs to be overcome! We cannot afford to have personal, at-home doctors every year. Besides! You’ll love Parker Medical Boarding School! Love you!
From Mom and Dad.
The paper gave a dry, crackly wail as Hazel crushed it angrily within her grip. “Can’t afford it?” She muttered at herself, unconvinced, and stared up at the welcoming doors of Parker Medical Boarding School. “We can afford 10 servants a DAY and we can’t afford one doctor annually?”
She pushed open the doors and dragged herself in reluctantly, pressing the crumpled paper into the table.
The secretary looked up, “oh! Hi! You must be the new student! My name is Ms. Safas, let me sign you in here and get you going!” Ms. Safas slid the room key over the granite front desk and Hazel snatched it up, along with her files she had slid along with it. ‘Note to self,’ Hazel thought as she launched herself towards her room, jamming the key in quickly and swinging open the door. ‘Avoid her.’
The room was fairly simple; it had a bed and dresser. A desk, a mirror and a closet. There was another bed and desk on the other side, and to Hazel’s dismay, no in-room bathrooms. She threw herself on the bed and glared at the ceiling, “I hate this place. I hate everything and everyone in it.”
A hand grazed Hazel’s closed eyelids and the light that was shining down on her was blocked. “Get up! You’re late for class!”
Hazel swatted away the hand and sat up, yawning, she had apparently dosed off. “What do you want?” She asked sleepily, rubbing away the blotches that splotched her vision.
“I want you to get up! I’m not in the mood for your laziness, so get up and GET MOVIN’!”
As Hazel stood up and faced my awakener, she laughed. The girl was short, with frizzy, uncontrollable hair. Freckles dotted her face like someone had sprayed-canned them on in some kind of incident. A pout was spread across her small mouth. “Oh oh ho,” Hazel rolled her eyes at her, laughing. “Someone’s on their period.” She passed by the flaring girl, walking out of the room and down the hall.
All eyes turned on Hazel as she strode into the classroom. Her teacher, Mr. Fields, frowned. “Miss…?”
“Blackwater.”
“Er, yes, Miss Blackwater. You’re late.”
“Do I look blind?”
Giggles rippled through the students.
“Miss Blackwater!” Mr. Fields said sternly, “I will not have back-talking in my class!”
“Then talk to my hand,” she waved her hand dismissively and sat down, tossing her hair back and gazing into space with a bored, sarcastic expression on her face.
Mr. Fields sighed, digging his hand into a paper bag on the front desk. “As you all know, this is a medical school, and as it is one you must get shots to study blood cells and protect against diseases.” He began to start passing out the shots, and as he set it down the needle rung an ominous note to Hazel. As she glared at its glittering reflection a nurse appeared next to her desk. “Alright, this won’t hurt a bit, now just give me your arm.”
“Don’t touch me! Not with that…that vile needle!” Hazel curled her lip in disgust, drawing her hand back like she had been hurt.
The nurse snapped up with surprise, “oh, but dear, you only get them once a week!”
“Once a week!?” Hazel shrieked, “do you know what that adds up to!? Why should I give you my blood anyways? Do you know where that needle has been? In other people’s arms, that’s where! Needles are trouble, let me tell you...”
But as Hazel ranted, she failed to notice that the nurse had already injected the needle and drawn her blood.
Hazel threw herself upon her bed, her arm screaming protest. After that shot, Hazel had pounded the spot with her fist. If she damaged her arms, they couldn’t push the needle in. Maybe if she grew violent they would send her back, maybe, just maybe. The lights began to fade, flashing orange and yellow colors aglow in the room. And as Hazel stared at the ceiling, her mood grew all the more bitter and cynical.
“And what do you think you’re DOING?”
The girl with bright red hair appeared in Hazel’s vision, blocking out the reflections of the sunset that danced on the ceiling. “I’m lying down, trying not to do something drastic. Now if you don’t mind, I would like you to move.”
Surprisingly, the girl’s eyes softened, “look. I get that needles scare you, frankly, if they do you shouldn’t even be here. But you are, so if you need any help you can ask me. My name is Amanda, by the way.”
Great, friends was not what Hazel needed right now. Friends were just another reason to stay. “I’m fine, I don’t need help. Go away.” She turned on her back despite the fantastic view above her and stared coldly at the walls.
Amanda sighed and shook her head, turning towards her bags to find her toothbrush.
It struck around midnight when Hazel woke again, still in the same position as when she had first gotten into bed. Resulting in the worst possible neck-ache in history. She stumbled out of bed, licking her teeth. No, Hazel hadn’t brushed her teeth. The girl sighed and fumbled through her medical bag, withdrawing her toothbrush and feeling her way to the doorway. “Lights out, lights out.” Hazel mimicked bitterly, staggering down a few steps before running right into the wall.
“Fu-” she stopped herself, Hazel had always had a terrible habit of cussing, not exactly the greatest thing to be proud of. The wall was cold yet inviting as she slid down the rough wood, her eyes fluttering closed. ‘So tired…’ The girl leaned against the wall, listening to the music from the other room.
Music? That wasn’t music that was voices. Hazel shook her head and placed her ear against the wall, listening into the hushed conversation.
“A new batch this year, I do think the he will be pleased.” The voice was a mocking purr, and it sent shudders down Hazel’s spine. “One of them even has AIDS.”
“AIDS? We’re making new ones, not tracking down old ones. The enemies know how to treat that.” This voice was serious and deep, like an alto. “Did you hear about the girl who made a fuss? Tsk tsk, she should not be here.”
“Oh, but I find her interesting. The girl is feisty and cynical, I do believe watching her this year will be a memorable experience. Who knows?” A loud squeak grated the air, “maybe she’s hiding something. Maybe she has something that we don’t know about, maybe it’s in her blood.”
What were they talking about? As Hazel stepped away from the door, she stepped on something sharp and rusty. “S***!” Gravity over took her and Hazel fell to the ground, rolling onto her back.
“What was that!?” The purring voice that sound so mockingly sweet snapped into an unusual sharpness and Hazel heard the scraping of chairs as the people got up. ‘I’ve got to get out of here!’ Hazel keeled over, crawling down the hall. “Stupid lights.” She muttered to herself, feeling the warm gush of blood drip quickly from her foot to the floor. Too much, Hazel collapsed onto the ground from the loss of blood, and as she looked up with bleary eyes she saw…
Blackness, utter blackness. The only thing that told Hazel she was alive was the sheer pain that shot up her leg as she awoke. Her head pulsed, the blood roaring in her ears, and she shook her head to clear it. “What’s going on?”
“I should be asking you that question.” That mocking purr, oh so sickly-sweet rang through the darkness.
“Tie me to a chair and put me in a blindfold.” Hazel smirked, “that is so cliché. Are you running a boarding school or a TV show?” Steps sounded in Hazel’s ears, and the girl swung her head to the side, trying to figure where it was coming from. This was her parent’s idea of a Medical school? They obviously didn’t care about the students; she could still feel the object that had pierced her in her foot.
The blindfold was removed, and in front of her stood a tall, blonde woman with striking orange eyes. The only thing that gave light to the room was a candle sitting on the floor. “Neither, I’m running an infected operation. You wouldn’t understand, you’re just a kid, you’re immature. Which probably explains why you were stumbling down the halls in the middle of the night.” She leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “No matter why I think, you still have to explain.”
“I wanted to brush my teeth. Speaking brushing teeth, you really need to brush yours, you got bad breath.” Hazel stared coldly up at the women, who was she and why was she holding her captive?
The women hissed, her wicked smile twisting into a nasty sneer. “Tell me, do you believe in god?”
“No.”
“Then you should be afraid, little girl, for you have nothing to look forward to in the next few minutes.” The women turned and stepped back into the shadows, her foot-steps fading away along with her.
As soon as Hazel determined she was alone, she wiggled in the bonds. They were too tight, how did that ladies hands tie such tight knots? Breathing slowly, the girl closed her eyes and tried to think of a way out. Her legs, hands and arms were tied. What could she do? Then an idea came to her.
Using her feet, she pushed herself painfully slowly to the candle on the floor. It seemed like hours, but in a matter of minutes she was by the glow of fire. She rocked herself side to side and thumped to the floor. Pain screamed through her in protest of her actions, but she nudged the candle over and wiggled her way to the front of the fire, pulling her bonds of the flame. The rope caught, and slowly burned away, the twines broke, and Hazel sat up. “I love you hands,” she muttered to herself, burning away the ropes that bond her legs and arms.
Once that was over, Hazel stood up and searched the room. She found a doorknob, opened the door and stepped into an office. It was bright and looked like the presidents oval office. Except without the rug and flags. Hazel moved around the room, wiggling handles and opening desk draws. She found a small package of white powder; she would figure it out later. Then something caught her eye, a laptop sitting on the desk. Leaping into the chair and spinning to face the computer she tapped the keys. The screen lit up, and a little box was the only thing found on its screen. It said: “Enter password.”
“Oh goodie, I get to play hacker.” Hazel chuckled, cracking her fingers and typed in a word. No good. She tried disease, blood, needle, shot, no of them worked.
Then the women words sank into her mind, and she tried one more word: “infected.”
YES! The computer granted access to the correct password, and Hazel rummaged her way through the files. The screen popped up with numerous boxes, all lists and descriptions of diseases, including one that told her the laptop belonged to the principal. One box interested her more, it was an email between the principal and…
The vice president!?
Hazel let out a breath of shock, what was the principal doing emailing the vice president of the United States!? She scrolled through their conversation.
To Carissa Vivan, head of Parker Medical School and director of Infected Operation.
I see that children’s DNA is much better for growth of diseased cells than adults, and will be better at fighting off the white cells. I ratify the proposal of the operation and expect you to report back in the next few weeks.
From Jason Rales, Vice President of the United States of America and chief executor of Infected Operation.
To Jason Rales, Vice President of the United States of America and chief executor of Infected Operation.
I am grateful to you sir for approving of my knowledge. As you know, the whole base of the operation is to catch the enemy by surprise. To assure you have made the right choice, I most point out that this would not be possible if the fool parents of these children were not under your power. The intention of this operation is to take their blood and create the right concoction of cells to make a new, deadly disease. In fuse this with any bomb and viola! You have the most deadly weapon any human being could put to action: assured death.
From Carissa Vivan, head of Parker Medical School and director of Infected Operation.
“Oh dear lord,” Hazel leaned back in the chair and clutched the leather fiercely. Creating diseases to use as a weapon in the war, what if it came here? Just because it was assured didn’t mean it was controllable. Did they not have an antidote? A cure for their twisted actions?
As she thought about this, the girl printed out the emails and studies they currently had. She grabbed a pen and jotted down a note to her captor, apparently Carissa had been the blonde woman who tied her to a chair. Withdrawing the packet of white powder, she tore it open without rustling its contents and put it in, slowly tipping to powder into the envelope. She closed it and wrote Carissa’s name on it. But the doorknob started to turn, and Hazel quickly put the laptop to sleep, grabbed the papers and darted for the closet. A second would have made all the difference, but as someone stepped in her closet door shut quietly, and she found herself in small room of glass vials, jars and cleaning supplies. She scanned the room in disgust; this is where they kept their experimental diseases. A window gave off light that told her morning had come.
“Someone’s been in here.” It was a different person, a man. “Look, the papers have been moved and there are bloody steps on the floor.”
“Who could get in here? The door was locked, it would be impossible.”
“Not if Carissa forgot to lock it again, you know it locks itself every other time.”
Shuffles and grunts came from the room and she saw a shadow step near the closet door, “the blood is fresh.”
Oh great, what am I goin do? Hazel whipped her head to the side, searching the room quietly for something that could help her. She found a box of matches and stuffed them in her pocket, and then she reached for the bleach. The latch wiggled, and the closet door opened. “Hey!” A man loomed before her, and the jug of bleach seemed little defense at his height. “What are you doing in here!?” He reached out, his large hands groping through the shafts of light towards her. “STAY BACK!” Hazel screamed, spinning the cap off and throwing bleach at the man.
“Agh! It burns!” His hands scratched his face, but he did not stumble back and only filled the doorway. He stood there, blocking her only chance of escape.
Wait, the window…
No, Hazel had to do something, she had to get rid of their work. Pouring bleach on the floor and stepping towards the window, she fumbled for the matches.
“This’ll be the end of me, but of your work to!” She lit the match, dropping it to the floor.
The room burst into flames, and as Hazel tried to make her way to the window, she knocked over as many things as she could. Glass shattered to the ground, blood and god-knows what spread over the floor. The smoke was too much, as Hazel reached for the window, the toxic life-taker filled her lungs, and she slumped onto the ground and lay unconscious in the burning room.
“Oh my dear, you’re waking up! Thank goodness!” As Hazel’s eyes fluttered open, she frowned at the nurse that stared down at her, her own eyes filled with concern. “You’ve been out for days, the smoke had dealt some bad injures to your lungs. But we’ve cleaned you up, and you’ve escaped with only minor burns and small cuts!” She smiled, the nurse’s fluffy blonde curls bouncing with her movement. “The person who saved you is waiting to talk to you, I’ll leave you two alone.” The nurse shuffled out of the room, and who walked in sent shivers down Hazel’s spine.
“I see by your shudders you remember me,” Carissa smiled wickedly, standing before her hospital bed with her hands behind her back. Carissa, the women who had tied her to the chair, Carissa, the women who was leading Infected Operation.
“How could I forget such an ugly face?” Hazel sneered back, trying to be brave in the bleak irony of the situation.
“I see you also haven’t lost your spirit, despite that fact that you almost did suicide.” Carissa leaned over the bed side, her hand coming towards her threateningly, a shot held in her wicked hands. “No matter, I’ll finish what you started.”
The shot slowly pressed into Hazel’s skin, and as Hazel gritted her teeth and awaited her death, it stopped. Carissa’s face twisted into confusion and wretched hatred. “You little cheat,” her face was so close to Hazel’s, and the girl could see the fury burning in Carissa’s eyes. “What did you do?”
“What you were planning to do, Carissa. I found the Anfrax in your office, were you thinking? Send it to the Vice president and frame his closest companion?” Hazel sneered, “its taking effect, you must of opened it just an hour ago. It ends now, your little operation.”
Carissa hissed and crumpled to the floor, her last words escaping her pale, cracked lips. “All in vain, little one, you burned the evidence. Your proof is gone.”
And she was gone. Hazel grimaced, turning towards the window, her eyes straying from window to floor. “Yet the memories live on.”
