Thursday, 4 May 2017

Those Who Dream Of Demons - 03

I woke up with a headache, I looked around and found a pitcher and jug of water and filled it up then slowly sipped from it. My mind feels muddled as if I slept too long or too little, I tilt my head and crack my neck in both directions while I get to grips with my surroundings. White sheets, white privacy curtains, aluminum frame bed, dull chatter from behind a wall and the smell of disinfectant. I know what this place is but the name is on the tip of my tongue, it’s rather large, houses the injured and heals people.

A hospital.

I smile at myself for remembering what it is, I look some more around my bed and find a controller and press a button. I hear a faint ringing noise from behind the thin plaster walls and the chatter stops. I hear a door click open and a few footsteps scan around the room, “Hello did anyone press the button?” I hear a male noise call out.

“Y-yes.” My voice cracks and I cough to try and clear it, the nurse or doctor heads in my direction and pulls open the privacy curtain, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Excuse me I’ll be a few seconds.” He rushes out the room and I hear him ask for help from a person called “Moira”. And before I know it I’m having a light shone in my eyes, asking for me to wiggle my toes and move my fingers before asking me for a few questions.

“Do you know where you are?” Moira asks.

“A hospital,” I answer quite proudly having figured it out myself she nods.

“When were you born?”

I opened my mouth to try and answer, it was on the tip of my tongue like the name of the place I’m in but I didn’t know.

“Alright instead of that, your age?”

I feel myself go cold, my stomach knots itself over and over again.

“Name of your first pet?” Her voice grows concerned and I shake my head with a no.

“Your parents' names?” I say nothing.

“Your name?” After a few seconds, she probably circles the ‘no’ option on her clipboard.

“Can I have a few minutes?” Moira and the male nurse nod and leave, I turn my legs over the side of the bed so they’re hanging over the ground. Running my hands through my hair I try and work out what’s happening to me. It’s a hospital, but how did I get here? Why can’t I remember my age? My parents, my pets, who I am? I try and swallow but I feel it get stuck in the back of my throat out of fear.

I start hyperventilating I don’t understand, but it isn’t long before they re-enter the room. I think they waited a literal minute, Moira, the male nurse and a new person who looks like a doctor entered.

“Mr. Eric, my name is Logan Lawson, but just called me Logan,” he introduces himself quickly the politely gestures to the female nurse, “this is our resident nurse Moira Jefferson and the lad here is Greg Franklin who is currently training here,” Logan explains but the only part I focus on was my name is Eric.

It doesn’t feel familiar at all.

“I’m sure you have many questions and many more worries, however, I assure you this is just a form of post-traumatic stress, your subconscious is just trying to protect you. I’m one hundred percent sure your memories will come back with time. But first, let's allow the nurses to get rid of the tubes.

After ten minutes I was free of them all, I’m surprised I didn’t notice them until now especially the ones in the more risque areas and I was changed out of what felt looked an apron. Soon I was talking to Logan once again while he pulled out my folder.

“You are a Corporal in the British Army, your name is Eric Forsyth. You were serving in Syria before getting injured by an RPG, you were ambushed and overrun. Do you remember anything?” He asked reading it all from my file without looking at me, he irks me immediately. Shouldn’t he read it then address me after?

“No,” I answer coldly, he sighs and closes the file.

“Okay, I’m going to have to put you onto rehabilitation for one month in the hospital, while I recommend two years total. I’m sure your family will be happy to have you back awake and well.” He gets up from his chair and puts the file away, too many questions fill my head before I can begin to think about family. Do I have a lover? Kids? Brothers? Or Sisters? Am I adopted? Nothing from the Earth to the Sun could gauge the worry I have.

Just who am I?