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And I’m no match for his strength. No matter how hard I fight, he doesn’t let go, and he guides our hands toward the glowing bowl.
I kick and squirm, but we’re getting closer and closer.
Screaming as he raises our hands toward the light, I feel a terrible sense of helplessness. A total loss of control. Dread for what’s about to happen next.
As soon as my fingers touch the dome, I get sucked in by some force. Immediately, a shock goes through my system. I’m cold and hot simultaneously. All my muscles seize, and my thoughts scatter apart.
And it hurts.
All I can think about is the pain.
I’m being electrocuted.
This is it.
This is how I die.
The terrifying realization goes through my mind before everything starts to go dark.
HANNAH
The pain. It’s so bad.
As I regain consciousness, I blink against the bright afternoon sun. Even under the shade of the canopy and with sunglasses on, my light sensitivity sends sharp sensations from my eyeballs to the back of my skull.
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to comprehend why the world is tilted. Then I realize my head must’ve fallen to the side when I passed out.
I’m slumped over to the left in the lawn chair, and it takes all my strength to lift myself and sit up straight. I breathe heavily from the effort.
Propping my elbow on the plastic arm, I rub my neck with the other.
“Damn it,” I whisper to myself.
These blackout episodes are becoming more severe. They’re lasting longer and getting more difficult to wake up from.
I can tell I was unconscious for many minutes because of how melted the ice in my sweet tea is. A pool of water surrounds the base of the mason jar on the white table, the condensation adding up while I was out.
Also, the dreams I have during these incidents are getting scarier. More nightmarish. I can never remember all the details, and I’m glad I forget so easily.
This most recent one was the worst yet.
It was dark… I was trapped somewhere… People were there, but I felt so alone. I can’t remember what they looked like, or what they were saying or doing. I just remember being terrified.
Mentally, I let it go, not wanting to dwell on it.
My depression over my circumstances is already bad enough. Despair keeps trying to pull me down, but I’ve been stubbornly fighting it, clinging to the person I once was.
I used to be optimistic and quick-witted, with a sometimes dark sense of humor. I prided myself on being someone who could brush off a bad feeling with an inappropriate joke or two.
But there’s nothing funny about this moment.
My dad is going to be really mad at himself for letting me run the syrup stand if he finds out I had another episode while I was unsupervised. He was worried about letting me be here on my own, but I’d convinced him I’d be fine for an hour.
I was wrong.
Vertigo lingers as I get my wits back.
Concentrating on the trees across the road, I watch how they sway with the warm breeze and take solace in the whispering rustle. Some of the leaves are still green, but others are turning with the season. Yellow, red, and brown.
