Hand Sanitizer Stings

It was warm.

That was the best way they’d describe it. Even if they didn’t know that word yet, it was the feeling. The feeling that encased your entire body, safety, security, warmth.

But that feeling disappeared, a click that was so loud it seemed to rattle in their mind sent the warmth away. Instead it filled them with the urge, no, the need to breathe.

They violently gasped for air, arms moving wildly as if it would help the motion. Their struggles sent them bumping against something hard, something cold, something they could see right through.

Or they would see through, their vision was too blurry to make out anything except for the green ooze receding around their feet, being sucked into a hole in the floor.

The warmth was gone.

They stood shivering, pale skin goosebumped and eyes barely just adjusted to see the dark outside beyond their invisible barrier.

The first thing they made out was a figure. A tall, large figure with thick, curled tentacles that cascaded down a stark white uniform dress. There was a large insignia on her matching hat, a blue circle with bent lines. One of their hands subconsciously pressed against the glass as they watched her, curiosity flaring inside their system.

“That’s a good sign.” She spoke, and it was like the warmth had returned. Their other hand came to push against the glass, then their body, they didn’t want the warmth to leave again.

She let out an amused breath, crouching down and poking a slender finger at the glass. Their face joined their body in pressing against the transparent cylinder, watching her finger curiously as she moved it up, down and around the glass.

She smiled and stood back up, dusting off her pale dress and stockings. “Let’s get you out of there, hm?” She moved away, and they let out a noise of distress before they could even think about it.

There was another click, a quieter one, and the glass was gone.

Gravity quickly did its job, and they wailed as they tumbled to the floor in a flurry of limbs. The woman didn’t make a move to help them, stepping over the wet little bundle and moving along with the clack of her heels.

“Come along.” She ordered, her tone mellow, and they were already scrambling to get onto their feet and stumble after her.

She led them to a small station, sitting them down on a cold metal stool that made their skin crawl. She sat in a large plush chair across from them. She took out her tools and notes in a blur of hand movements, having everything neatly on the nearby desk before they could blink. What they did catch though, was her snapping a blue glove over her hand.

“Let’s begin.”

A sharp hit against their knee resulting in their leg flying up against their will. “Reflexes, good.”

Before they can even react, her hands are on their face, holding their mouth open. Her fingers pry their lips up, examining their beak “Sharp, good.”

Her hands move down to their neck, poking, prodding and earning a squeak of discomfort from them. Her hand recoils after a moment, her expression turning to a frown as she stares at them. They shakily try to bring her hand back, missing the touch, the heat, but she pulls away sharply.

“... Deformed.” It’s a mutter, but the warmth in her voice is gone. She turns her chair away sharply, scribbling notes onto one of the sheets of paper. They’re shivering again, their breathing loud, disjointed and fast with fear. Was it because she pressed so hard? Or were they only now noticing it?

She pulls out a small phone-like device, pressing her thumb against the side and talking into it. They can just make out her hushed report.

“‘Laryngeal Stridor. Deformed voicebox. Constantly struggling to breathe and talk.”

There is a beat of silence. She refuses to look at them.

The device crackles, and a deep and cold voice comes from inside. ‘Keep the subject Khione, continue the examination.’

Despite how cold her stare is when she finally looks at them, they feel warm.

And wet.

She scoffed, grabbing their face and squeezing it between her sharp nails.

“What are you crying for?”