You could never forget...
Apr. 27th, 2014 04:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maxwell_initiative“Do you remember anything about the crash?”
He remembered a loud noise, a scream and pain. Lots of pain. The hospital staff told him that he swerved to avoid a truck that cut him off. His bike wasn't meant to turn like that. At his speed, the bike swerved and slipped to its side before crashing into the tires of the truck, tossing him 50 feet.
He fidgeted and argued with the staff to let him out of bed. He couldn't decide what to be more pissed about. That the staff wouldn't let him out or the mounting list of injuries. Countless cuts, bruises plus two fractures in his arm, a fractured collar bone, three broken ribs, a fractured leg and a concussion.
“What’s your real name?”
“Lady, you and I would both like to know that.”
And amnesia takes the cake. He’s been here for three weeks and can’t remember anything. The staff has been calling him Max, the remnants of his leather jacket having only those three letters legible.
“Are you still having dreams about the Mobile Suits?”
He cringed. He really regretted mentioning the dreams in the first place. Everyday this lady comes back and asks about them. What they looked like. What he was doing in the dream. Was he ever inside the robots? Did he recognize anyone in the dreams?
“Geez, you people don’t have anything else to talk about, do you?”
“It’s not everyday we get someone who screams out so often in their sleep.”
She said that too sweetly. He’d heard others cry out late at night when he can’t sleep. Which was almost always.
“Who’s Heero?”
“Who?”
“You cry out at night. That’s the name you call for.”
He remembered a loud noise, a scream and pain. Lots of pain. The hospital staff told him that he swerved to avoid a truck that cut him off. His bike wasn't meant to turn like that. At his speed, the bike swerved and slipped to its side before crashing into the tires of the truck, tossing him 50 feet.
He fidgeted and argued with the staff to let him out of bed. He couldn't decide what to be more pissed about. That the staff wouldn't let him out or the mounting list of injuries. Countless cuts, bruises plus two fractures in his arm, a fractured collar bone, three broken ribs, a fractured leg and a concussion.
“What’s your real name?”
“Lady, you and I would both like to know that.”
And amnesia takes the cake. He’s been here for three weeks and can’t remember anything. The staff has been calling him Max, the remnants of his leather jacket having only those three letters legible.
“Are you still having dreams about the Mobile Suits?”
He cringed. He really regretted mentioning the dreams in the first place. Everyday this lady comes back and asks about them. What they looked like. What he was doing in the dream. Was he ever inside the robots? Did he recognize anyone in the dreams?
“Geez, you people don’t have anything else to talk about, do you?”
“It’s not everyday we get someone who screams out so often in their sleep.”
She said that too sweetly. He’d heard others cry out late at night when he can’t sleep. Which was almost always.
“Who’s Heero?”
“Who?”
“You cry out at night. That’s the name you call for.”
