AN: A kind request of those who read this. Please review and critque this story. It would be very appricated if crits were included on what I can do to make this better. Thanks ahead of time. EL Naples


Tokyo , Japan

The car tires screeched against the wet ash fault as the driver swerved to avoid hitting the girl who had just run into the cross walk as the lights changed. Her scream shattered the wet bleak night as the car blasted its horn when it hit into her young body, sending her flying some feet backwards and against the hard ground. She rolled, than lay still on the street as gawkers shouted for others to call for the police and an ambulance. Some good Samaritans rushed to her side, shielding her from torrents of rain that came bursting down. The rain destroyed the tracks that the car left and unleashed a terrible rumble from the heavens above. The sound of a digital voice announcing the time, one-thirty am, from a nearby clock tower, mingled with the sound of wailing emergency sirens.

The doctors at the hospital said it was a miracle that she had survived. Had the car hit her head on, which thankfully it did not, she could have died instantly. As it was, her body was several broken, but she could recover, though it would take time. To fix the tendons and ligaments that were mangled a decision was made to have an operation. Her brain that had to be monitored due to the damage she had occurred when she had hit her head landing on the pavement. The doctors said she was lucky to be alive.

Outside of her room an officer in uniform was taking information from her parents. The officer spoke rapidly, asking about why she had been out of the house at that hour –they didn't know –and if she had any drug or alcohol related issues –she didn't. Satisfied, the officer said he would keep in touch, and would pray for her fast recovery. Once he was gone the girl's parents watched her from the viewing window into her room were the Doctor and Nurses checked on their child's condition.

She was lying in bed dressed in a blue hospital gown and covered by a soft hospital blanket. Her normally vibrant face was a dull pale color under the florescent lighting of the room, her long brown hair cut short, so that the doctors could check her head. Her Mother covered her mouth as they drew another sample of blood from her daughter; while her Father held her Mother close against him to sooth her. He was stroking her hair when his cell phone in his breast pocket rang.

"You better get that," the girl's Mother said softly, turning her attention back to her sleeping child. The Father gave a weak nod then, trying to stay calm, answered as he walked away from his wife.

"Hello?" he replied in Japanese and an American accented voice that sounded rather confused greeted him. He quickly switched over and, speaking in fluent English replied.

"Sorry Aunt Flora, I was expecting a call from the insurance company." –He paused to let the woman on the other end speak –"No, she hasn't woken up yet, the Doctor isn't sure when she will but we're hoping for the best."–Another pause –"Yes if it comes to that we will make arrangements, but we're trying not to think of that Aunt Flora. The Doctor says that she's made it this far so…"

He listened to the woman at the other end of the line rant until her voice grew horse from sobbing and shouting. He knew then to cut off the conversation. "I'll let you know if there's any change or if the police get any leads. Take care of Mom, please. Thanks, goodbye Aunt Flora."

With a press of a button he ended the conversation and walked back over to his wife. She was already with the Doctor, standing outside of the room talking quietly. The girl's Father joined them and noticed that his wife's face looked pale and sick.

"Is something wrong?" he asked concerned, he switched back to Japanese. The Doctor cleared his throat and glanced over the chart he held in his hand.

"Her vitals are stable. However, right now she's unconscious, and we don't know how long she will stay in this state. It might be hours, days, or weeks. We can't tell for sure when she'll awaken," the Doctor explained as calmly as he could. "We're going to monitor her and move her in a day, or so, to a private room."

"Do you think she'll wake up?" the woman pulled off her glasses and the Doctor handed her a handkerchief. She accepted, and wiped her eyes. He gave her a curt nod. All the same he looked exhausted and unsure, only offering a gentle "Time will tell" as comfort, and that they would try their very for the couple's daughter. He motioned that they could go in to see her and left them in the care of the attending nurse, a kindly looking short woman, who opened the door to usher them inside.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of the clock on the wall ticking the seconds, the steady beeps of the machines that were monitoring their daughter's heart beat and blood pressure. The girl's mother stat down in a chair beside her daughter, stroked her head, and held her hand. Her Father took a chair from the other side of the room and dragged it to the opposite side of the bed, sat, watched his daughter, and waited.

There they stayed for nine days straight, taking turns at times, watching, waiting, begging and praying that their daughter would wake up. Then, on the tenth day –while her mother was holding and stroking the top of the girl's hand –she stirred. Ever so slightly, barely moving, her fingers wiggled and curled around her mother's.

Her eyes fluttered as she heard the loud cries of her father calling for a nurse. Her vision was blurred, her hearing muffled, and her mouth was dry. She smelled the sick smell of iodine and disinfectant. Her Mother shouted at her, but she couldn't make out what was being said. There was a flurry of activity around her as the Nurses and Doctor came in to check her condition. The girl winced when a light shown into her eyes and the rapid talking made her head pound worse than it already was. The noise was like some terrible symphonic orchestra tuning up to play the world's worst symphony. The voices mingled with the machines sounds and beat an unnatural tune into her head. Still, the girl managed to make out two faces amidst the chaotic activity that surrounded her in the hospital bed.

"Mom? Dad?" she managed to croak out with her weak trembling voice, Her mother rushed over to her side and smiled through tears of joy.

"Amina, oh my baby girl, thank God you're okay," the woman cried as she looked down on her daughter's tired face.

Amina licked her parched lips, she recognized her name, their faces –her mother's bright green glasses and her father's mussed up black hair were an immediate identifier to her –and that the room that she was in wasn't her own. But a lot of things were missing from her mind, like what was going on before she heard the shouting, and the car horn, and why she was on a street late at night. She could remember being tossed through the air like a rag doll, but not why she had been there in the first place. She couldn't remember names, or faces, dates or events that had just happened not so long ago. Things like her birthday came in easily, things like her best friend's phone number, not so much. Horrified by this realization, she turned her attention to her father and let out a fearful whisper, "Where am I?"