Young Writers Society

AFTERMATH

2200 February 20, Capitol of Cerulea, Alpha

His eyelids peeled opened. Sweat glistened on his skin. The same tension that haunted him years ago was still lingering. Slowly, he felt the blood recirculating in his arms and fingers. Vision began to pick up the monotone surrounding him and the rumble of the platitudinous thunder.

Something was covering Isaac’s eye.

“Isaac?” A meek voice came from the doorway.

Silence. The arching posture of Isaac spoke of the million thoughts firing and reverberating within his mind. Though his name is of the wild mighty raptor, Vivian saw him as a deep black raven, semi-supine and partially curled on the bed. His long hair flowed onto the sheets; a black waterfall under the grey storm. His face was faintly unveiled by the clouded light from outside. Vivian saw light reflecting off his shoulders; his skin rivaling the beauty of the white glass lining the infirmary. However a shroud was bound in layers over the left eye of Isaac’s head, shutting in an abyss of secrets.

Murmers of thunder leaked in as he struggled to get up. Vivian rushed over to assist, holding down the needles that administered nourishment for his complete awakening.

Through the past few days, Isaac had been drifting in and out of the realm of the surreal. At first, there were tears, then sighs and frowns on the people around him. His eyes were dead opened at times before his mind dive-bombed back into limbo. Motor coordination was fully functional the day before once key medication was administered. And what a time for Vivian to be assigned to the young man; when he was ready to take his first step.

Her touch was warm while his was cold. Isaac’s tank top was faded in grey and meekly tinted in the colour of rum. It held tightly onto his body, rippling across the black fabric in tight folds, hiding a mass of muscles in his midriff.

“What’s this?” The shroud around his head could not be ignored.

“Your wound.” The doctor began removing the many layers.

Isaac blinked faster; his pulse became audible to his own ears. Something was in his left eye.

The doctor handed Isaac a mirror. Her eyes dropped to her feet, undaring to experience Isaac’s reaction for the next minute.

“What is this?” Isaac’s voice exited his windpipe in almost a whisper.

Trembling was her lip while both hands clasped and rest in front of her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Crack! Isaac’s fingers pierced mirror surface. The sheets stained with his scarlet blood as it leaked onto the broken shards. Tales of the tragic left eye was told: there was no life, no cells. Just an artificial sphere, stuck into his left socket.

An aura of fear sieged the doctor’s heart, feeling her diaphragm pull into hyperventilation. She got up and backed away quickly.

In a second, Isaac pounced upon her, pulling with him the blood-stained blanket and overturning the medical trays.

The doctor gasped; now held in a chokehold with the shard of mirror to her eye. She whimpered softly.

“Who are you?” Isaac’s voice turned demonic, bringing the cold glass close to a jugular.

“It…it’s me….” Isaac’s frown was erased from his face. “It’s Vivian.” Her voice was raspy. “Your friend...Vivian.”

Isaac stared into her eyes. All his muscles had ceased to move. “Don’t you remember?" Vivian begged, shaking her head.

Valves in his windpipe choked. He stepped back to the metal desk behind him. He dropped the shard behind his back. Shame forced him to cover his face.

Vivian? Why was that name familiar? Or was she lying? Isaac never knew anyone named Vivian. No…she was never in his memory. But how did she know?

Gradually, Vivian supported herself as she eased her weight onto the edge of the bed. Her mind was crying for escape, yet her heart took in the fullness of the ward.

The young man's eyes switched from side to side, peering through the gaps of his fingers. It was then, when a fragment of his memory returned; he saw himself squatting on the rocks, on a cliff, in the pouring rain, behind a sword standing in the earth.

It was the same melancholy of faded brown earth and grey-purple lightning. His long hair was plastered to his drenched face. Yet by-passing that brief memory, Isaac could not hear Vivian’s name resonating in his mental wells.

Isaac’s fingers trembled, and so did Vivian. There were no memories of her, none at all.

“Vivian?” Isaac’s voice hinted a child who was lost.

Vivian swallowed hard, not daring enough to reply. Isaac’s hand drifted down to the desktop, letting his fingers touch the texture of metal.

“Vivian…?” reduced to a mere breath, the name was echoing in his mind. His fingers gripped the edge of the table. The doctor’s eyes locked onto them.

“I don’t know you!” Isaac’s hand sank almost effortlessly into the metal desk. Seizing hold of the interiors, he ripped out the cabinet and drawers, flinging them across the floor…

It took awhile before he was subdued by the other nurses and doctors. Yet it was a sight that left Vivian shocked for the rest of the day. She had completely lost track of time when she sat outside the ward, slouching over and gazing at her interlocked fingers. She felt the sweat chill on her palms.

Glancing through the ward window from time to time, she thought it would be wise to not leave her seat. Meanwhile, she watched Isaac’s sedated body twitch a little, recalling her classes in medical science, suggesting that her ‘friend’ was adapting to the outside world in his subconscious, to a world he has already forgotten.

Ringing announcements and animated conversations reminded Vivian of the type and frequency of patients in the infirmary. Yet she knew that she would see no one else, because only for that day, she had volunteered to take only one patient.

“Is he alright?” A feminine voice came from behind. It was a young lady anxiously sipping some coffee.

“He doesn’t remember,” Vivian sighed, “he recalls nothing.”

The woman bit her lip, “Isaac…what have you done?” She mumbled to herself.

The doctor raised her head slightly, seeing her patient lying fetal on the bed, below the window that protected him from the rain and cold.

“Give him time to recover, Regina. Don’t be too hard on him,” she looked up at the woman. Though rue was written on her expression, Regina tried to keep a straight spine and strong appearance. Placing the cup down, she began to shiver. Vivian quickly helped to support her trembling wrists, “he’ll be fine.”

“Vivian,” Regina did not let go of her cup, “why should you forgive him when he held a knife to your neck? It has been eight months of coma,” she bit her lip and frowned, “eight months of pain…”

Regina Hawk decided to wait around. Previously, she had rushed down from her schedule with the chief instructors the moment she heard Isaac’s awakening. Yet she froze the moment she saw him sedated. Regina would cross her arms, look away and pace around the waiting area in her uniform and glasses.

Several times before, she had wasted her day standing and leaning on the viewing glass, staring into the room when no one was around.

Today, she tiredly released her ponytail and stepped into the infirmary.

Not for long, Isaac began to orientate himself to the room. The clearing rain and the cool air blew in. He saw Vivian standing by the viewing window and Regina stepping through the automated doors. It was clear; 20 years of his life had vanished, and all that remained was confusion.

“Isaac,” there was a hint of anger in Regina’s voice, holding another uniform in her arm. She avoided eye contact with the young man, “what do you remember?”

Silence.

Isaac was rather drawn in by her presence: her features were that of an Asian socialite. Well-groomed and neat with a fair complexion, complementing her hair that streaked in several bands of highlighted brown.

He heard a sigh, watching silently as she worked on her ponytail in the mirror. Still, Isaac never took his eyes off her straight posture and high chin. Her shoulders appeared large and tightly hugged by her uniform.

A deep exhale, “it has been eight months; none of us have an explanation for your amnesia.” Still, her disappointed tone contrasted her physically strong stance.

Pain, it accompanied the distant flashback of the cliff and the ominous skies, hanging above the fading vision of the black sword. Isaac held his head, trying to force his senses to stay conscious.

“Isaac, put on your uniform and follow me,” she tossed it over to him, “don't tell you don't know where your head goes.” She left impatiently, her ponytail whipped like the quick twist of a female warrior.

With unstable fingers and a rigid frown, the young man studied his uniform with his name on it. He had to comply.