This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Anna Emerson

I heard people speaking, very seriously, as I was constantly coming and going to and from that dark land called “unconsciousness”. I saw an elderly woman, I had no idea who, wearing a black felt hat, gently placed on top of her white-blonde hair, and solid brown dress, looking very conservative, which reached down to her pale ankles. She had a pleasant smile on her face, and was laughing so sweetly.

There were other things as well, like the soft purr of a kitten, and the sound of a loud, thunderous sea of clapping. More than those things, though, there was one thing that reverberated throughout my entire mind, soul, and heart. It filled my entire being. It was the sound of a young man, again someone I did not know, but felt I should have known, sobbing. “I love you,” he gasped out, as I heard him return to his weeping.

But now I was gaining consciousness again. It felt different this time, more solid, more constant. As I regained awareness of my surroundings, I began to look around. I was lying in a white, hospital bed, in a white hospital room. There were three chairs sitting in a row along the wall at the foot of the bed. And there sat the elderly lady. She must have heard me stirring, because the moment I looked at her, she rushed out of the room, returning quickly with a nurse in a lab coat, which was, like everything else in this hospital, blindingly white.

The nurse began to check my various IVs, and then turned to me. She asked me, pointing at the elderly woman, “Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. At this, the elderly woman, who was now dressed in a white dress, every bit as conservative as the brown dress, started. She looked shocked, fearful, and mournful all at once. I felt a pang of sympathy for her.

The nurse wrote this down on a clipboard that had been lying on a table near the side of my bed. “Alright,” she said, “What is your name? How old are you? Where do you live?” By now, I was quite terrified. Why was she asking me these things? Was I supposed to know “Conservative”? What had happened to me? I was gradually starting to feel a throbbing pain throughout my entire body. I felt like I had bee slammed against a wall.

“I don’t know,” I whispered as sobs began to wrack my body. Just then, a young man, looking very forlorn, entered the room, carrying with him two salads, one with tomatoes, and one without. As soon as he saw that I was awake, his expression lit up. He nearly ran to the side of the bed, shoving the salads onto the table, and fell to his knees.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed joyously. I began to inch my way toward the other end side of the bed, feeling very nervous and unsure of myself. Was I supposed to know him? Alarmed, he looked up at “Conservative” questioningly. She met his gaze looking quite dejected.

And then, she gave my diagnosis: ”She has no idea who we are.”