White Butterflies

The room swam. A blinking conciousness came lazily. Eyelids grated like sandpaper as they drew back for the first few times. Pain was the first sensation; a sweet fountain of the feeling blossomed through the new awareness and it felt good to have certainty of life. Dried out sockets with their dusted white marbles slowly watered into existence and the red-lined discs moved back and forth in the still darkness.
The room was a blurred gray all around; no matter which way the eyes darted the space ended in a blurred gray. Breathing increased; heavy, pounding, rasping short breaths with an echoeing heartbeat pounding an unatural rhythm to the brain. Dry lips parted slightly as the nexk strained unused muscles for the first time.
The cold steel table glimmered dimly as the head swiveled back and forth. Life was here, if nothing else was decided it was definate that life had arrived. It would seem much sweeter had there been a concious waiting, patiently waiting in the blackness of the soul.
But life was now here, regardless of the past, and it was decided something must be done with the new life.
"Life," Dry lips broke and bled freely as they sputtered their first words. The voice crackled and squeeled like iron being bent the wrong way. Echoes of life made their way convulsively to the hollow ear. Eyes widened at the hearing of one's own voice.
The grayness swam in and out of focus as the newly openned eyes struggled to remain connected with the newly openned mind. Pain, violent gripping pain; the eyes shut, watering. Blood vessals, small and thin, pulsed blood around the tearing flesh sacks. The room lit, chasing away the blackness and upseting the dark room and its inhabitant.
Voices, something moved over the body, shadows, speaking in odd voices about unknown things. Eyes ventured a peek, bright, flaring pain, but through the tears and blood the eyes saw shapes, blurry and changing, but shapes nonetheless. More voices; gloved hands attached to vibrant white coats that lead to anymous faces motioned with pokes and prods. Tools cut, pierced, ripped, and attacked the body and mind with the pains of physical reality.
The anonymity that was given these reality-bringers made them all seem the same. Wild eyes darted but couldn't tell who was coming or going; who had been there already or had first to rest their eyes upon this poor trapped soul.
Pain blossomed again as more white coats searched with concerned eyes and metal tools. Worried glances and more mouth-words were exchanged.
"-It's open-"
"-partial success-"
"-not working-"
"-try again-"
Somewhere a machine beeped, it had been beeping all along but ears, now cleared of blood, had just begun to hear them. A calm careful monotonous beeping that complimented the pound of drums that had started to cover the voices.
The whitecoats moved more lethargically as if a great hope was suddenly drawn from them as they drew blood from this broken body for testing. The body wondered why such mild neglect when only moments before they had moved with such purpose. Perhaps they would answer these questions in time.
A spike shot through a twisted spine. Dry lips split wide in a frenzied scream. A back arched, eyes openned to full value. The vibrant whitecoats began fluttering like wings as the room spun again. The world began to fade as the pain deadened slowly. Butterflies of white lifted from the ground and broke through the drab gray room to the brilliant sky beyond. As these last sights fled from the dimming eyes. . .
. . .the beeping stopped.