|Good Morning, Dreamer
Author: J.S.Meeds PM
Ethan wakes up, his eyes blurred. A white room, a cold bed, a tile floor. And worse, knows nothing of who he is. With each step in this place, he inadvertently finds the answers to a life he would rather forget, an unwanted love, and wounds that wont healRated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Angst - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,377 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 01-03-08 - Published: 01-02-08 - id: 2457814
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Here's Ch. I! Im in love with it. Enjoy...
White walls. White, tile floor. Blurry vision. Pure confusion.
He opened his eyes, feeling a weight wanting them to close once more. They itched, burned; fire in his retinas. It was a dream, a floating entity of nothingness, of a fantasy world where nothing was real, no knowledge existed.
The room gleamed a pearly white into his vision. This place seemed too wrong to be true.
His back ached. His face itched. His arms felt crushed under an invisible weight, veins bursting open and blood trailing to the tiles below.
Lying on a cot, lumps and springs massaging the small of his back, he moved for what felt like the first time. No idea of his location, what he was feeling or seeing, and more terrifying than anything else, who he was.
He didn't have an ounce of desire to move. He laid still, blinking once or twice in rapid succession, blue eyes watering with the sudden bright lights reflecting off snowy linoleum.
It was a nightmare. Half expecting dark shapes to emerge from cracks of the white room, this boy squinted at his surroundings. A single bed held his quivering, almost lifeless frame. A tiny, slender room encased the bed…a toilet concealed by a grimy glass wall placed in the corner.
And that looming, intimidating door. A large oval window placed so someone, or maybe something, could watch the occupants day or night. A feeling of fear crept through his tissues. He wiped his eyes, the stinging tears welling up with no avail to clear them away.
He thought, through a splitting headache and veins burning throughout his arms, that possibly, ridiculous and ludicrous, that he had been abducted by aliens; erasing all memories of his life up until this point, bringing him back from unconsciousness after experiments with serums and needles to every organ and portion of his frail body.
A knock at the door.
A figure stood behind the glass window on the door, wavy chocolate hair shaping a sweet, youthful face. The woman, staring with a calmness into his eyes, smiled with concern, looking down as she fumbled for what sounded like keys.
The door cut through the stagnant air of this dank place. The woman stood with a poise, arms clutching a clipboard.
He still couldn't understand. He knew what a clipboard was; recognized objects, remembered movies, books…Just nothing about his single existence, his past, his hurts, aches, pains, his scars, bruises. Nothing but confusion, overcoming any sense of anger, love, passion.
He was a blank canvas, no marks, no experiences.
Like being born into adulthood, but memories nothing but a deep inky black.
A shivering, icy, endless hole.
"Good morning, Ethan." She smiled, standing shoulders back and neck elongated like a model. As she took over the doorway, white coat and laminated nametag still obscured in his newfound vision, Ethan, as he now knew, let his name sink into his flesh, his lifeless, empty flesh.
Maybe it fit? He couldn't tell. So fatigued, so achy, so out of his body.
"Good…," he couldn't speak, his throat burning and sore
"Don't worry; you don't have to say anything. I imagine you're in pain after you admittance here last night. Just sit back. I'll send a nurse in afterwards to do vitals, blood pressure, your emotional status, so on. I'm Dr. Ingrid, I'm the clinical psychologist here on the young adult ward. I just need to ask you a few questions, and then you can rest. Would you like lunch brought to you?" The woman questioned, gliding across the room and gently sitting at the edge of the lumpy cot.
He tried to speak again, nothing but mucus came spurting out, racking, heaving coughs prickling his chest like pinpoints. Rolling on his side, he began dry heaving, stomach lurching, s a fire lurches sparks into the forest air.
"Nurse!" Dr. Ingrid called, standing, maternally clutching Ethan as he heaved and coughed and ached and cried hot tears.
A man clad in blue sped into the room, taking control of the situation. Ethan felt flames licking his insides.
Patting his back, the nurse held Ethan up straight, holding him so his lungs could do what they needed.
Inhaling sporadically, Ethan found a space in the flames to put them out. He found an even tone in his mind and began to control his chest spasms. Exhaustion flooded his face, a rich, red hue flushing his cheeks, blood vessels popping in his eyes, blood collecting behind icy iris'.
He shook his head, refusing any more assistance, and sprawled back out on the bed, eyes closed, taking clear, heavy breaths.
"Thank you, Kyle," Dr. Ingrid whispered, waving the nurse back to his post. "Do you feel alright Ethan? Do you think you can answer a few simple yes and no questions for me?"
He nodded, fluttering breaths angering him.
"Do you know why you are here?"
Ethan shook his head.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Do you have any information regarding what has happened with you in the past two days?"
Frustration, anger, resentment. Confusion boiling over his rim.
Every ounce of energy, he opened his mouth a whispered through a dry, bloody throat, "Who the fuck am I?"
The silence was so loud, so booming.
Through Ethan's blurred vision, he could see astonishment on Dr. Ingrid's features; her eyes igniting fear and concern.
"You…you have no memory of who you are?" She mumbled, scribbling feverishly onto her pad.
No, no, no, no! He shook his head.
"Your lunch will be here shortly. I will call your mother this afternoon. Please press this call button if you need anything. I will be seeing you shortly…and Ethan? Don't try to think too much. I will give you information when I believe you are physically and mentally capable of hearing. I must talk to your mother and our Bard of psychologists. Take it easy today, Mr. Ethan."
The door closed with echoes of concern.
My name is Ethan. My name is Ethan.
"I will call your mother this afternoon…"