Lost in an Unknown World

Chapter 2: Viola March 6th, 2017

I'm not supposed to be here. It's been roughly two months since I woke up in the hospital, and I still don't feel normal. I can't tell people what I need to because it'll sound crazy, I know it will. This modernized city that feels almost dystopian is strange- too loud, too chaotic.

I begin to drag myself out of bed, as the dread of the daily slog begins to set in. Eat, sit on the couch, go to an appointment, take a nap, another appointment, then go to bed. I'm incredibly bored, but yet way too stimulated to function properly (aka the reason I haven't been back to school yet). There's talk of me getting a tutor and finishing out the year at home, but I need to leave the house for longer than an hour. It's a must.

My meal is already situated on a place mat, with the cutlery placed perfectly, of course. Ew, yoghurt. I hate it- the texture is so weird and slippery, and it makes me gag. This Morana chick pisses me off. I guess that sounds mean because technically she's my mom, but its hard to remind myself of this when I legitimately cannot put her character to that title. Her kindness seems fake, like its forced. Though, she's my stepmom so I'm under no obligation to be nice to her. I haven't asked any questions regarding the whereabouts of my 'real' mom, though. Since I can't remember anything about this life, I am unsure whether this is a topic that I can bring up or not.

It's Monday, so I know what that means. I have my weekly schedule mapped out like clockwork; I mean what else do I do to pass the time? Anyway, at ten in the morning on this day, I'm taken to this sketchy room in this hospital where I'm put under some type of anesthesia. From my answered questions this procedure is some type of brain scan, so that they can check that everything is working as it should up there.

Something seems off though. Maybe it is just a bout of paranoia, but I swear on my life that the doctors and nurses in the room are always giving each other these funky stares, as if they're communicating in some type of code. A code that I clearly do not understand.

"It's time to leave, Viola", says Morana, with her smile that appears from a place that is not genuine, but rather, forced. I roll my eyes, wishing that I could yell that of course I know we have to go. 9:24- it's the same every week, I'm not stupid. Sixteen minutes is the exact amount of time that it takes to get from this house to the hospital, leaving a leeway of five minutes in case of unusual traffic that may await us. Therefore, we are left with fifteen minutes to burn in the waiting room, where Morana will aimlessly flick through magazines. Again, I appear to have devoted this new life to a place of time and scheduling.

The car ride today is more awkward than usual. Morana babbles on about the trip that I will be taking with her and my "father" at the weekend, to the seaside. Usually she leaves me alone, conscious that she will receive no verbal response from me. But in the last few days she's been much more pressing; I've seen those pulsing veins encased within the flesh of her forehead. A clinical blue, they jut out whenever she's tense or isn't getting what she wants. That is what I think anyway. She sighs, trying to guilt me with her wish of me taking to her like I did before the accident. Supposedly. How should I remember the way in which I communicated with her?

When we arrive, the clouds are embracing, their dark grey tints becoming more daunting after the heavens open. Water droplets are suddenly gushing onto the car, bouncing like a million ping pong balls, only most of the shots appear to be missed. Upon finding a parking spot, Morana races out to retrieve a purple umbrella from the trunk, one out of an assortment of the many colours that are kept there. She motions for me to share it with her, but I reject her offer with a small shake of my head. Maybe this is out of a desire for some type of autonomy over my daily actions, or it could be that the intense falling of the rain an onto my skin that makes me feel somewhat human.

The smell of hospital hits me the second that I enter the door, disinfectant, infection, and dread all rolled into one. I feel sick. We have to wait in the vomit-coloured orange chairs, the plastic cover threatening with its squeak every time I dare to shift my weight. There aren't many people here today, just an old man with a hacking cough, and a mother with a screaming baby that is giving me a headache. I stand to grab a gup from the water fountain, hoping that it will soothe the throbbing pain. Before I reach it, Morana stops me gesturing that she already has a pre- filled water bottle for me to drink. I sigh because this is so typical of her.

After several more minutes of this boredom, I hear my name being called. "Viola", Dr Jenkins nods. He's the dude that does my weekly brain scans. Weird guy. He's short and fat, with a little pig belly, as I like to call it. For some reason, the brain department of this hospital is in the basement, although when we take the elevator, it seems as though we are going down more floors than just one.

The hallway is dim, so I can't really see much other than the people that pass by us; other doctors and surgeons, I'm assuming. This heavily contrasts to the room that I go into, the lights so bright and screeching, that I think I'm going to throw up. It makes my eyes water too, and my hands begin to shake. I always get these symptoms when extreme senses are present, there's really nothing that I can do to stop it. Morana tries to squeeze my hand, while muttering that it's all ok, and that there is nothing to be anxious about. I pull it away. My bad, sorry that I'm not in control of my peripheral nervous system.

I have on one of those paper gowns that you have to wear for stuff like this, my bare butt cheeks making me squeamish against the white sheets. I lay still and motionless, while the anesthesiologist places the oxygen mask onto my face. I begin to panic, as I hear Dr Jenkins' slowly fading voice in the distance. "It's all going to be alright, you're doing just fine, no need to be afraid, I will find out everything I need to know about you."