Untitled, pt. 2

When I awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar place. The door was locked, but it didn't matter. I was frightened and didn't know what to do. This must be the State Hospital.

I hardly moved from my bed that night. I suppose it was childish, but I lay beneath my covers, hoping beyond hope that there weren't any other creatures in the room with me. Why is it that new surroundings and dim light causes the mind to conjure up the most unreasonable fears? Be that as it may, I could swear that all the sounds and hums of that room were magnified a hundred-fold, simply because of my unacquainted knowledge of their origins.

Once I drew up the courage to at least rid myself of the covers (due to my anxious and increased temperature) I decided to catch the bearings of the room I was in. There were four high walls, a small writing desk opposite the bed, a low table with what appeared to be a bowl of fruit, and a giant mirror on the wall facing the door. I stared into that mirror for a long time. I began to wonder about the girl on the other side and how plain she looked: long black hair and eyes that said too little. A nose too small. Cheeks too big. A chin that was just shallow enough to criticize. The children at the Academy were always generous with insults, and they could be quite clever. I wonder what they say of me now?

As my bravery continued to build I noticed my boredom and hunger were also on the rise. I stepped lightly from my bed and approached the bowl of fruit. It was brimming with fresh delicacies and as the hours passed so did each apple, orange and grape. They were the only things that gave life to that room that night. I savored every bite, every piece, every peel. I don't think I had ever been so purposeful in eating a piece of fruit before, but that first night in the hospital it was the only thing that had connected me with the old way of living, with home and with family. I began to cry a little. I must have looked very silly, savoring a piece of strawberry while fighting back tears, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever seen my family again. I was far too young for such a sad thing to happen to me; that's what my tears were saying.

It was then that I noticed a letter on the writing desk and a book, one of my old textbooks from the Academy. The letter was addressed to me, with the simple and formal rendition of my name, "Caraline."

To Caraline or, the One Who Sleeps During the Day:

No doubt you must be terribly confused and frightened. Let me assure you that you are in good hands. Your parents send their love and kind thoughts, and I'm told your brothers and sisters are asking about you constantly. Unfortunately, we haven't had much to give them in terms of information, but I am confident we will learn what has happened to you soon enough.

My name is Gerald Kenning. I am a Doctor of the State of New India, and I specialize in Neurogenics and Natural Medicine. You are in the State Hospital in the capital of New India, and have been here for several days now. As you may already be aware, you do not wake up when the rest of us do, and you are possibly the first human being to see the night sky in over three hundred years.

I've named your particular condition "Night-walking." While the rest of the world suffers from Night-Faints, the condition where an individual falls asleep immediately as the Night comes, you wake up. As we are not yet sure as to the causes of Night-Faints, your condition of Night-Walking is a complete mystery! Still, that does not mean your stay here in the hospital should be anything less than luxurious. We have left you some items to occupy you this evening, including some fruit from our private gardens. I hope you enjoyed it, I assure you its the freshest we have, and it is completely healthy and nutritious, free of any radiation. We will give you more each night. Be sure to eat it all! We don't want you starving.

I have also left you one of your books. I apologize for locking you in your room, but we must make sure you stay in a controlled environment as we monitor your condition. I will try to get some paper and writing utensils so that you may in turn communicate with us, but I hope this book will keep you occupied in the meantime.

We don't know why this has happened, or why this has happened to you, but we are diligently trying to discover the answers. Know that you are loved and cared for.

Sincerely,
Dr Gerald Kenning

Of all the things the doctor explained, I loved him for his final words the most.

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Dearest Edward, my diary and confessor, wonderfully patient lover of my befuddled mind,

I met a wonderful man today! Well, perhaps "met" is the incorrect verb... I received a recorded greeting from a wonderful man today... and he certainly wrote to me the night before, but it feels so much more real now that I've seen his face! I'm afraid its quite impossible for me to meet anyone under normal circumstances with this infamous "condition" preventing me to socialize with people during normal meeting hours! But I'm quite distracted now. I met my doctor, and he is an Elder! I don't believe I've ever seen one in real life, let alone been given the privilege of being in correspondence with one.

Its only the second Night since coming to the State Hospital, and I'm ever so bored and lonely most of the time. I never wanted to be alone. You can argue as much as you like, what with my isolating eccentricities and all, but I never asked to be the only one awake at night. The workers here try to provide items to keep me busy... fruit to eat and ever-so many books. They left me some paper and pencils tonight. Gerald even said I could write him if I wanted! Did I fail to mention the doctor's name is Gerald? Quite folksy for a name, with a slight debonair... Look at me, all ablush and giddy towards my own doctor! I suppose it can't be helped... I haven't even met another man for months, even if he was previously recorded. He said that he would record something for me every now and thing to keep my spirits high; he may even be able to get recording from my family. I would be terribly grateful to him if he could, even if he weren't charming...

I've decided to ask him for a game. When I was home, father would sometimes try to teach me to play chess. I was always far too ebullient to sit and play an entire game, but now that I find I have little to entertain me, I miss the puzzle a good game of chess presents. It would be easy enough to play, but the matches would be quite extended in length. I would only be able to make one move a night, seeing as how my opponent would be asleep somewhere else, dreaming the Night away. But, that would give me the chance to relearn at my own pace and I think I would feel like someone were paying some attention to me beyond all this hospital business, even if it were just to move some small pawn...

And not to be offensive, Edward, but I find the attention of a diary somewhat lacking. You are a fantastic listener, but an awful companion when it comes to the art of conversation.

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