Coming out of the anesthesia was like waking in any strange place, from strange dreams, but stranger still. Nate squinted into the bright lights of the recovery room. Wiggled his fingers and toes. Recalled his name. The house he'd lived in for twenty years, in the suburbs. His office building. Felt the beat of his heart in his chest. Not his heart. His heart, diseased and unreliable, had been replaced with the heart of a stranger. But Nate knew, listening to the beat, that the stranger would not remain one for long. The stranger was part of him and already trying to assert himself. There were messages in his blood, wants and desires, that were not his. Blue sky on a cold day, an abandoned lot, a flash of metal flying through the air. An angry desire to attack. Nate sat up in bed, setting off an alarm. Within minutes, a nurse appeared, his broad scrub-clad form blocking the door. Nate lay back down, closed his eyes. The nurse spoke as he reconnected some wires, adjusted something else, smiled at Nate, a smile that faltered when he saw the fear in Nate's eyes. Questions Nate couldn't possibly answer; questions Nate's surgeon would say were common, but wrong. The previous owner of Nate's heart had been a high school track star, a good kid, brain dead after a bad dive at the swimming hole. Honor student. But Nate knew the truth. His new heart had not belonged to someone good, and he would have to live with what was inside him for the rest of his life.
Week Eleven: Creative - Write Every Day