"Well, we all make mistakes, dear, so just put it behind you. We should regret our mistakes and learn from them, but never carry them forward into the future with us." - L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea
I sat in class with my head in my hands. God, I feel so sick, I thought to myself. I'd been fine this morning, even before lunch. What on earth had I eaten? I rocked myself back and forth, trying to ignore the faint sound of my teacher's whining voice at the front of the classroom. I was positioned at the back, right next to the window. The chilly breeze was making me feel worse as I struggled to fight the growing nausea in my stomach. Whatever I had eaten wasn't sitting right with me. I tried to think back, hadn't I only had that usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich this morning?
The smell of fresh chalk filled the air as the teacher began writing on the chalkboard. All of my peers were paying close attention to Mrs. Johnigan, and very few had noticed that I was acting out of the ordinary. The girl next to me, Erin Rivas, was one of the few to notice and whispered to me, her hand on my shoulder.
"Are you alright, Syrenne?" she asked, a concerned look on her face. Although I wasn't the friendliest student, I'd made some reliable friends over the years. "Do you need to go to the nurse?" She became visibly worried when I didn't answer. I gave a quick nod, making my head spin and my vision blur. Erin helped me out of my chair, only for me to fall seconds later. I found myself leaning on her for full support. My legs had given out, plunging me into the overwhelming smell of cherry that lined her white blouse.
"Syrenne?" I heard Erin's worried voice before my mind gave out as well, and I toppled to the cold, hard floor.
The world was dark as I was moved from the cold floor of Mrs. Johnigan's classroom, to the cold ambulance stretcher, with nothing to comfort me but the sounds of my frightened classmates. Soon, my hearing too was gone.
I woke later in the middle of a bustling hospital room, nurses and doctors scurrying in and out of the doors, carrying various supplies that I was unsure of the uses for. A nearby doctor noticed my eyes open, and approached me.
"What are you allergic to?" he asked, a simple question that I had no answer to. I didn't think I was allergic to anything. I gave a groggy shrug and the doctor rephrased his question. "What did you eat?" he asked, but I couldn't stay awake long enough to answer, darkness clouding my mind.
"Oxylipton." It was the sound of one of the many doctors later that night, finally settling on the substance I'd eaten. My eyes were closed and I was barely conscious. I couldn't feel my body, I was too tired.
"You're kidding, she'd be dead," another doctor commented with shock.
"Maybe that's what she wanted," the first doctor explained, settling on a thesis that all parties would later agree upon.
I, Syrenne Cunningham, had tried to overdose on Oxylipton, a new drug that had recently been discovered but shunned by the FDA for it's strength. One milligram and you were as good as gone.
I was never sure how I'd ingested the drug, but I was fairly certain I had not done it on purpose.