Awakening Memories

2. Inspiration

After the short nap, my headache had cooled down. The pain wasn't as sharp and piercing than before. This time, mom was the one carrying me down the stairs.

"I'm heavy, right mom?" I wrapped an arm around her shoulders for support.

"Yeah, not gonna lie, but it's okay." The corners of her mouth slightly rised, which I adored. " It's really no big deal." I just giggled at her finishing statement. Mom led me to a room that I hadn't seen during the tour. It had a flat risen rectangular thingy in the center of the room, the surface made of leather. I couldn't really tell what the other things in the room were.

The surface of the thingy mom lied me on was not so spongy not so tough; it resembled a bed. A pair of footsteps approached the room. I moved my head to the opposite direction, at an angle. I wanted to see who it was but mom told me to resume to my original position. Anyways, before that I had seen a young looking woman from a far, who I'm assuming is my physiotherapist.

"Hello there," she started off, hands in the pockets of her black cardigan. I noticed that she had an Indian accent with a tinge of English accent. Her hair was tied in a ponytail; brown hair with orange highlights at the ends. "I'm Dr Sanaya Jain, from The Good Health Medical Center, and I'll be your physiotherapist." She shook my hand gently.

Afterwards, she told me that my doctors and parents had told her about my condition and stuff like that; she also didn't disclose much of the information.Mom left the room thereafter to pave the way for the session.

Dr Sanaya first gave me a bunch of things to test my holding ability. I passed by approximately 88%. If I did tender activities on a daily basis, they'd go back to how they originally worked.

"Have you tried walking after you woke up?" She did some massages on my stiff legs. I gritted my teeth in accordance to the action. It felt as if thousands of needles were piercing the internal layer of my skin. "Sorry dear. Tell me where it hurts most?" She threw me a glance with her dark brown eyes, having noticed that pain engulfed my nerves.

I swallowed in painfully, "The knees, right knee. The hips and ankles not so much."

She moved her fingers to my knees, massaging them as gently as possible. It still hurt terribly. The wrinkles on my forehead never ceased to crease.

"A lot of trauma must've been exerted here. So, that's why you're in pain." She wiped the tear that rolled down my cheek. "It's okay, dear. You will heal, just believe it."

Why wouldn't anyone tell me about what happened? I just couldn't decipher it. I wanted to know the reason behind my headaches. The reason behind my amnesia. The reason behind my knees hurting. The reason for everything being fucking weird.

Of course, I didn't reveal my inner emotions to my physiotherapist. I breathed them all down to my heart. The session carried on till darkness seeped through the sky. "For now, I want you to use a cane to practice walking. I don't want you to get used to being on a wheelchair. Or being carried. It'll be a slow recovery and your bones will adapt to that stagnant lifestyle. "

After having dinner, I walked on my own up the stairs. I had to limp to reduce the pain that came from my right knee. For support, I leaned my body against the railings. It took all effort not to fall face flat on the cold floor; I reached my room finally after what seemed like ages.

"Dad?" I moved carefully to the bed, lying my body there. I summoned for him cause I knew he was in his study. Heavy footsteps sounded towards the direction of room. "Trix! Are you okay?! Did you fall down the stairs?!" His eyebrows were crunched as he approached me. He shook me by the shoulders slightly. I couldn't help but giggle; I'd still be on the stairs if that actually happened. He displayed a confused look as I continued. "Calm down Dad. I'm okay, see?" I waved up and down to assure him. "I just wanted to borrow something that'll entice me since I'm bored."

"Alright then. Will a laptop do?" I nodded my head in excitement. He was reluctant to rise from the bed, but eventually headed out. He came back with a rectangular white box that gave off unused; a MacBook M2 as per what he told me it was. "Is...is this mine?" My eyes widened in surprise as I watched him light it up for me. "Yeah. You always wanted this make." He powered it on for me. "Everything is ready, now's your take to continue. Do you remember how to use apps?" I rolled my eyes playfully at his joke. "Of course I do."

"Nine is the end of screen time till tomorrow, you get?" He cautioned. "Okay."

Once he left, freedom was in my hands, until nine o'clock.I got into Instagram, creating an account. I guess I had also forgotten the password to my other account. If I previously owned an account, which content did I even post? How many followers did I have? Who did I post with? I'll never really know, unless I dig deeper. I shook off those thoughts bringing my focus back to the screen. They'd just kill my fun time.

I followed the accounts suggested to me of famous celebrities like Kim Kardashian. Afterwards, I got bored scrolling down my feed until I came across a piece of art by a user named InkAndShadows. It was a suggested ad, despite me not even keying in poetry. Anyways, it read:

Instead of facing their demons bold,

They choose to hide in shadows cold,

Afraid to confront the wrong they've done,

Their battles lost before they've begun.

Oh, two-faced souls with hearts impure,

Your masks will fall, your truth endure,

For in the end, it's clear to see,

Your deception only deceives thee.

-I.A.S

Even though I couldn't related to what they were communicating about, I loved it. I liked it and commented what my feelings about it. They'd just gained themselves a new follower. I read five more poems or so as I put myself in their shoes of describing. Who hurt this poet? Consistent comments on the posts wrote. Yep, a massive ten thousand followers. No face reveal, though I found out his name is Igor.

With the remaining fifteen minutes to nine, I decided I'd also write down something like a poem or a haiku. Igor inspired me to that extent, yeah right. I also didn't wanna scroll down Insta anymore. I'd probably share it to the world or trash it afterwards.

I smirked at the screen as my fingers clicked on the post button. For a name I chose Marlee, 'cause why not? I'd die of embarassment if anyone that knew about me personally, knew that I wrote it. Self- doubt and nervousness settled in my core, on what people would say about it. Igor had some negative comments, but the positive ones outnumbered them. Of course people who achieve something big like that always have haters. I still couldn't believe that I sent out part of me to the entire freakin' planet. Then an idea struck my brain suddenly.

(1255 words)