Simon Nicholson ,fifteen, safe, and panicking. The moment he felt himself awake he knew something was wrong. He knew that nothing was going right because he could smell the ocean, hear tiny unfamiliar voices, and feel the unknown bed under him. He did not live near the ocean, he lived in Kansas where everything smelled like grass, wet or dry. The voices he heard were not those of his family, but of people that he did not know. And the bed he laid on was soft and clean, but it was not his. He didn’t know anything except that something bad was happening.

Simon’s stared at the unfamiliar sight in front of him as he lied in bed. He hadn’t moved since he woke up and he wished that he didn’t ever wake up. Whatever it was that happened, is happening, and will happen is unpleasant. Touching the glass casing above him felt like a task that he did not want to do, but did anyway. It looked like glass, but felt like clear plastic.

He moved slowly and carefully out of the thing that he was sleeping in. When his legs made contact with the floor he felt the light wave of the ocean move his body. He’s never been the type to feel seasick and for that he was glad because he could think rationally, but upon seeing the room he was in he wished that he was. It was a dark room with light passing through the walls. He touched it and felt moisture on his hands. It was a plastic like material, soft, but durable like the padding in isolation chambers in asylums. None of these things felt right. 

He was scared, but he didn’t want to sit still. Every inch of his body screamed to move before anything bad happens, but he knew something bad already did. The waves pushed his light body again. It wasn’t that the ocean was strong he just felt weak. He crawled to nearby corner where he could see a bag. He inched slowly until he got hold of the thing.

The bag felt full and heavy, but not so much that he could not lift it. On the side of the bag was his name stitched in. His last name Nicholson was written in a strikingly gold angular style. It reminded him of the JROTC guys in his school. He opened the bag slowly hoping for something that he didn’t know what, but the first thing that he found was his dad’s hunting knife.

There was no question that this thing was his father’s knife. He knew because he still had the scar from it. When his dad first bought it Simon, curious as ever, decided to play with it and cut his hand. The knife was quickly taken away and never to be held again. Now the knife was there lying on a bag that belonged to him beckoning him to pick it up. Simon didn’t pick it up instead he just sat there.