The Runner

I woke up to a whitewashed world. There was something cold lain across my forehead and my mouth tasted like my mother's pancakes. The thought only served to set my stomach to grumbling. My surroundings were unfamiliar; a white bed, white sheets, white curtains, a white chair.

"Am I dead?" I mumbled to myself.

A pale hand pushed aside the curtains and a grinning blonde boy handed me a glass of water that I gratefully drank, only just realising that I was parched. "You're alive." He told me. "And very lucky. It was some miracle wind that saved you from that fall."

"Miracle wind?"

"Yes, something cushioned you just before you landed. It was still a hard landing, mind you, you’ve been unconscious for nearly a week!"

"A week?" I gasped. "I have to- my friends! Are they okay?"

"They're fine. They were unconscious, same as you, but they all woke up over the last few days." He assured me, then grinned. "There's a long list of people waiting to see you. I'll bring them in, shall I?"

I nodded, "Yes, please."

Notes