The Test

The test room is empty. No other students. No noise. Just a few rows of desks face the front of the room. I turn my head and see a lady. She’s wearing a navy blue suit, with a clipboard in one hand.

“Sit,” she says in a harsh tone, sliding a paper and a pencil onto the desk in the center of the room. I do as she says, taking a seat.

I stare at her silently, waiting for the next set of instructions, but she stays quiet. She turns, exits the room, and stands against the glass window, now facing me. She nods.

“What does that mean…?” I whisper. She doesn’t answer. I look down and read the first question.

“1. What is your full name?”

Well, that’s an easy one. “Emma Clark” I write down in neat letters, trying to relax.

“2. What is the last date you remember?”

The last date I remember? That’s a weird question. I think hard. Friday… maybe the 12th? I write that down, but I’m not exactly sure.

“3. Describe the last place you were before you came here.”

Okay, now this is strange. I was… in my room, I think. I was lying under my pink covers, my desk piled with papers. Wait, no… wasn’t I in the car with Dad? I probably just forgot, that tends to happen to me sometimes. I got with my gut and scribbled down “My bedroom”.

Before looking at the next question, I slightly tilt my head upwards and notice the same lady as before, in the navy blue suitcase, but this time, she’s writing something down. She looks up at me with no expression.

I look back down at the paper. Number 4. “Who are the most important people in your life?”

That’s easy. Mom, Dad, and Nora! I smile at the thought of my wonderful family, but then I notice something weird. I know what their hair looks like, the colour of their eyes…but when I try to imagine their final appearance, everything becomes blurry….Weird. I grip my pencil tighter and look at the next question.

“5. Do you remember what happened to you that day?”

What day? I don’t know what that means! My hand hovers over the paper.

I lean back in my chair, annoyed. “What kind of test is this?” I ask loudly.

The lady doesn’t answer. She just tilts her head like she’s studying me, with an unreadable expression. I can’t tell if she’s pleased with my response, or just happy in general. I roll my eyes and decide to skip that question.

“6. What sounds do you remember hearing?”

I take a deep breath. Tires screeching. Sirens. Or maybe that’s just a dream..? I write that down.

“7. Who was with you when help arrived?”

What help….I remember something, but my memory is a little fuzzy. I see a bunch of people towering over me. I remember a hand holding mine. Was it Mom? I think so. I write Mom.

“8. Write one person you miss the most right now.”

Dad. That one’s easy. I press hard on the pencil until a piece chips off.

“9. What do you think of when you hear the word home?”

Pancakes with tater tots. The hard, firm couch. My throat then starts feeling tight.

I shake off the feeling and move to the next question.

“10. What number or detail from that day stands out the most in your mind?”

1155. I don’t know why, but that number pops into my head. I write it down as my hand begins to shake.

I look around me at all of my surroundings. The room feels colder now, and I can hear my heart pounding loudly through my eardrums.

“11. What day, month, and year is it right now?”

“Twenty-twenty… five?” I say, questioning my own answer. I don’t know… I write down 2025.

“12. Do you remember how you got here?”

I don’t. I write, No.

“13. What do you hope to do once you leave this place?”

Go home. See Mom. Continue on with my day, normally, just like how I did when I left home.

“14. What is something you know for sure about yourself?”

I’m Emma. I’m 11. I think.

“15. Do you know where you are right now?”

I freeze. What kind of question is this? I’m at school, of course. Writing a test…

I then look up.

The walls. They’re not a light grey like school. They’re white. Like paint. And the smell… It’s not paper or pencil shavings. It smells like cleaning chemicals.

“Wait,” I say aloud. “This…. isn’t school.”

The door opens then opens, but this time it isn’t the lady I saw earlier this morning. It’s a man who looks to be in his late 50s in sky blue scrubs. He walks into my room in a sprint, along with another woman with teary eyes.

“She’s responding,” the man says loud enough for everyone in this building to hear.

The test lights flicker on and off, and slowly, everything fades away and turns black.

I wake up lying in a hospital bed. A needle in my arm, and a bunch of wires connected to me. A machine beeps rapidly next to me.

I see a woman running to me, the one I saw right before blacking out. “Emma,” she says, her voice shaky, “you’re awake! There was an accident. You’ve been asleep for three weeks.”

Her face is blurry at first, but slowly, I begin to recognize her. Mom.

A nurse checks the monitor. “Memory’s still fragmented,” he says. “But she’s coming back.”

I look down at the paper on my lap. All the test questions are there, in my shaky handwriting. Under the last question, I’ve written,

“I don’t know where I am. But I think I’m waking up.”

The End.