I wrote this for a English practice paper. We were told that the title had to be Strange Meeting, and that was it.
This will probably be a oneshot, but I might continue it if I feel like it.
Summary: A girl in a hospital, who remembers nothing of her past. A mother mourning her daughter. A sister who just realized how important her sibling really is.
The first time I woke up, I was alone. I was lying on the pristine white sheets, and felt slightly drowsy, as if a fog had settled over my mind. There was a strong smell of disinfectant, reminding me of a hospital. I fell asleep in a second.
The second time I woke up, I felt heavy and sick. I was alone, again, but this time, could see my surroundings quite a bit more clearly. Everything was blindingly white. A plain ivory bed, an alabaster table, an armchair, and a mirror. In the mirror, I didn't see myself, but a stranger, a pale, waxen girl with sky blue eyes and a shock of coral pink hair. If this was what I looked like, then I didn't recognise myself at all, although I didn't recognise much of anything, lately. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep again.
The third time I woke up, there was someone hovering above me, just out of the edge of my vision. Groaning, I opened my eyes.
Everything was much clearer, sharper. I could see the defined lines of the bed, and the mirror, and me, covered and attached to plastic tubes, my pallid face barely visible, blending with the white pillow and the white sheets. Last time, everything was hazy and indistinct.
There was a woman sitting on the chair beside my bed. She was an elderly woman, though I wouldn't go so far as to call her old: There was a certain lightness and cheerfulness about her. Her brown hair was a shade of russet, riddled with silver streaks, and she had kind, warm eyes. They almost seemed to glow. I recognised those eyes, shocking myself, as the eyes I saw in the mirror earlier. I would even go so far as to call them my eyes. Looking at the woman, it made me feel safe, though she was a complete stranger to me. And yet, surveying her closely, she seemed almost familiar; something about her made me think of a warm fireplace, and cinnamon tea, and laughter. I felt as if I should know this woman, that the answer to this riddle was deep in my subconscious, buried under piles of thick mist. It made me feel somewhat sad, disappointed in myself for not knowing, though how could it possibly be my fault?
The elderly woman turned around to face me.
The woman's face lit up, and she uttered a proclamation of joy, before lunging at me, and hugging me tightly.
"Izzy...Oh my darling Isabella!"
The woman was full out sobbing now, clutching me as if I was a life boat and she was sinking. I however, was bewildered. Flummoxed. Confused. This woman was clutching me, and yet, I still remembered nothing, felt a connection, but didn't know why. I felt awkward, certain this woman had gotten something wrong.
Breaking away from her koala-like grip, I stumbled back onto the pillows. I tried to speak, gently, calmly, trying to voice my confusion in a way that wouldn't affect the other person in the room.
Tentatively drawing my breath, I uttered my question.
"Excuse me, Miss… If could please be so polite to tell me who you are? Please?"
This seemed to shock her, break her out of her stupor. Her happy, though tear-stained expression became shocked, and a little more than sad.
"You.." Her voice broke off. The woman gasped, and started again. "You don't know who I am?"
In that moment, I just wanted to lie. To comfort the woman and tell her that it's alright, that I knew, that this was just a very cruel trick. Alas, I could not. What would I say, afterwards? Right now, the cruelest truth would be better than a selfish, albeit kind, trick.
"No" I muttered, ashemedly, "No, no I don't."
This seemed to send the woman to the verge of tears.
"I am your mother, Izzy. And you are my darling daughter. Your sister is outside in the hall. She's very worried, though she will never admit to it."
Sister. Mother. Isabella. Foreign sounding words, so close, yet so far away. I struggled to remember, and yet, I knew nothing. I felt numb. Those words bounced off, don't have the effect this woman – no, my mother expected. My blank, clueless face must have answered her unspoken question.
"You really don't remember, do you?"
I wished I could say something, anything, to comfort her. Ultimately, I couldn't . She hobbled out of the room, and I could hear her burst into tears outside the door.
And I was left alone again, in this disgustingly white room. Left to process what happened. To find an explanation. To try and remember.