BRAIN MATTER

The ink on the page was barely dry before the bullet ripped through my temporal lobe. A dull, wet pain exploded across my skull and I cried out as the darkness crept up from the pit of my stomach and engulfed me. I was vaguely aware of the sound of the gun being re-loaded. As I drifted into a dark, peaceful oblivion, I thought I should’ve been more careful with the words I’d written.

A still, silent void enveloped me. A tiny sliver of thought wormed into my awareness: What will become of me now? The dull pain in my head became a raging inferno as a bright light pierced the void and pulled me toward it. I felt myself being lifted out of the darkness.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by several people. Each wore a small, gold, caduceus pin. Medical personnel. I tried to talk, but was too exhausted. I closed my eyes, and when I woke again, I was alone.

I could barely move my limbs, but I felt my head to find it wrapped in bandages. The minor effort drained me. I wiggled my fingers and toes. I’d survived. My lips quirked in a smile, and I winced as my chapped lips cracked and bled. My thoughts were a jumble as sleep kidnapped me again.

The next time I woke, I was lying on a cold, hard surface. I was cold and pain wrapped my body like a cocoon. Footsteps echoed in the distance and adrenaline flooded my system. Instinct told me to move fast, but that was easier thought than accomplished. With great effort, I rose to my feet and immediately stumbled as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I steadied myself and looked around, trying to get my bearings.

Through a seam in the bandages covering my head, eyes, and ears I could see the room was small and dimly lit. The walls were stone. A cot occupied one corner and on the opposite wall held a crude wooden door. I limped toward the door, my muscles protesting each step. When I reached the door, I could hear voices on the other side. The bandages partially covered my ears and I couldn’t make out many words, but they sounded angry. Heart racing, I pulled the bandages off and pressed an ear to the door.

“...can’t believe he’s still alive,” a voice hissed.

“Shut up and do your job,” another growled.

I had no idea what was going on, but it didn’t sound friendly. I pushed the door open and ducked out into the hallway, ready to run for my life. But as soon as I stepped out, I was face to face with the barrel of a gun. I looked from the barrel to the man holding it. He was tall and muscular, with a cruel grin on his face.

“Well, well, well,” he sneered. “Look who’s awake. Did you think you could hide behind your words forever?”

Something inside me snapped. I had been shot in the head for speaking the truth. People should be free to say what they believed, but that wasn’t a luxury we enjoyed. So I had hidden and become the voice for so many who feared to speak. Well, I was done hiding, done being afraid. If they wanted to kill me, so be it. I looked the man in the eye, though I was sure the bandages made me less than intimidating. I spat out the truth that had been building inside me for far too long.

“You think you can silence me with a bullet?” I snarled. “You think my death will erase my words? It won’t. My death will immortalize my message. So go ahead, make me a martyr. Make my words echo through the ages, long after you and I are nothing but dust.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and his expression turned cold. “You talk big for a man with a gun pointed at his head.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

I closed my eyes and waited for death. But the gunshot didn’t come. Instead, I heard a strangled cry and a thud. I opened my eyes to see the man who’d been holding the gun crumpled on the ground. His companion stood over him, rifling through his pockets and grabbing some keys.

“Come on,” the figure said, gesturing for me to follow. “We don’t have much time.”

I did my best to keep up as he led me through a maze of hallways to a staircase. I climbed the stairs as fast as I could, but my body was weak. I was gasping for air by the time I reached the top. The figure opened a door, and we burst into the daylight. I squinted in pain. Everything was too bright—filaments of searing hot magma jolted through an already exquisite headache I’d been carrying since I woke.

After a few moments, my eyes adjusted a bit, and I looked around. We were on a congested street. My savior turned and faced me, his large physique framed against an urban landscape of moving cars and tall cement buildings.

“You’re not safe here,” he said, his gruff voice urgent. “You need to disappear. Go off the grid and stay off. They’re already looking for you.”

I nodded at the man and regretted it as my head spun. He handed me an envelope of cash.

“Good luck,” he said. Then he turned, put his hands in his pockets, and disappeared down a side street. 

I was alone, somewhat disoriented, and I knew I needed to move. But as I stood there, staring down at the money in my hand and considering what had just happened, something inside me shifted.

I was no longer the same person I’d been before. Hiding behind my words used to feel brave—I was one of the few who dared speak what the masses were thinking. But now that felt cowardly. Instead, I wanted to scream my message from the rooftops. Safety was no longer something I craved—I felt fierce, unyielding, and unafraid. It was time for a new message, a new movement, a new me.