HIGH PARANOIA
760 Words
The next morning, Aurora didn’t hear the breakfast bell.
She woke to a knock instead—two sharp raps, followed by silence.
When she opened the door, the hall was empty. Only a small, stainless-steel tray sat on the floor.
The porridge was lukewarm, but beside it was something else—an envelope, folded down the middle, edges smudged with what looked like rust… or dried blood.
She glanced up and down the hall before picking it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
At first glance, it was just a blurry shot of a man in a lab coat, standing beside a gurney.
But the figure on the gurney made her freeze.
It wasn’t the inhuman thing she’d seen last night—at least, not exactly.
This face was softer, intact, and… human.
The eyes were closed, mouth slack in an almost peaceful way.
Still, there was something about the jawline, the faint tilt of the head, that made her skin crawl.
In the corner of the photo, faint and almost rubbed away, was a string of numbers: Test Subject 31.
A cold tremor ran through her as she realized the skin on the figure’s left cheek bore the same faint scar she’d glimpsed on the creature’s distorted face in the shadows.
Aurora’s first instinct was to run straight to Saint, to demand answers—but the corridor outside was already filling with the shuffle of nurses.
If she said anything now, she’d only be giving them more reason to watch her.
So she slid the photograph under her pillow and forced herself to eat.
Aurora didn’t get far with the photograph.
She was still tucking it under her pillow when the door opened without a knock.
Cassie—wide-eyed, jittery Cassie—slipped inside and shut it again fast.
“You shouldn’t have that,” she whispered.
Aurora froze. “Have what?”
“That… whatever you’re hiding. They’ll know.”
Cassie’s hands were wringing the hem of her sweater so tightly her knuckles were white.
Aurora’s pulse jumped. “Cassie, I saw something last night—”
“No, you didn’t.” The answer was too quick, too flat. Like it had been rehearsed.
Aurora blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t see anything.”
The way she said it—calm but empty—made Aurora’s stomach turn.
Cassie stepped closer, lowering her voice until it was almost a hiss.
“They’re not real, the things you think you see. The Director says our minds make up pictures when we’re… adjusting.”
Aurora caught the tiniest flicker in her expression, the way Cassie’s gaze darted to the corner like she was waiting for approval.
And then, almost word for word, Cassie repeated:
“It’s all in your head. If you keep feeding the delusion, you’ll stay sick.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists under the blanket.
She knew those exact phrases—they’d come straight from the Director’s mouth yesterday.
“Cassie…” she started, but the other girl was already backing toward the door, eyes glassy, like a puppet slipping back into its strings.
When she was gone, the room felt smaller.
Tighter.
The photograph under Aurora’s pillow might as well have been a live wire.
She didn’t dare touch it again.
Aurora waited until the hallway outside went still again.
Even then, she didn’t move right away. Her ears strained for the smallest scrape of a shoe, the tick of the security light. Nothing.
Finally, she slid her hand under the pillow.
The edges of the photograph bit into her fingers—familiar, solid. She pulled it out just far enough to see.
Her breath stalled.
The image was… wrong.
The grainy figure that had been in the background minutes ago—the thing with the too-long shadow, was gone.
In its place stood an empty stretch of corridor wall, the lighting brighter, sharper, like it had been taken on a different day.
Aurora turned the photo over. Same paper. Same faint crease in the corner.
She blinked hard, looked again. The wall stayed empty.
A faint pressure bloomed behind her temples, the way it sometimes did after one of the Director’s “adjustment sessions.”
No.
No, she knew what she’d seen.
Her pulse drummed in her ears as she shoved the photograph deep into her pillowcase.
If they could reach into her memories and twist them, maybe they could reach into more than that.
And if Cassie had been sent in to warn her… or to check…
Aurora wasn’t sure which was worse.
- Writer
