A Twenty YearSleep

A Twenty Year Sleep

What would it be like if you suddenly fell asleep, and didn’t wake up the next day, nor the next week? In fact what if you didn’t wake up for twenty years? What would you do?

Hello, I’m sorry, but I cannot properly introduce myself because I don’t remember my name. I’ve recently been going by Samuel, and I think it suits me. There was once a point in my life when I thought the idea of sleeping for twenty years was just a silly, impossible notion. Story’s like “Rip Van Winkle” were supposed to be silly little old stories right? Well, not quite. All I remember is a terrible crash, and it really had to be a terrible thing to have put me in a coma for the past twenty years. This is the future, and everything is different.

I woke up in a hospital. There was no one in the room with me, I was alone. Honestly, I was frightened, I was scared. I didn’t know what was going on; I was not quite aware of what had happened. I remember getting out of the bed. I remember calling for someone, anyone; anyone who could tell me what was going on. No one came. It was certain that I undoubtedly had suffered from amnesia, because I couldn’t remember my past nor my name. I only knew that there had been a terrible crash, and that I had been in it.

I remember walking to the mirror, - it was the one hanging over the sink where doctors and nurses would wash their hands - and I couldn’t even recognize my own face. I remember running from the room. My memories are slightly fuzzy here, but I remember that I didn’t see a single living being inside that entire hospital anywhere. Of course, there were plenty of bodies, but none of them were living. Something had happened, something huge. I was confused, I was frightened, and all I could do was run. I didn’t even know from what exactly I was running; I just wanted something that made sense. I wanted to know what happened to me, and who I was.

I remember the next things vividly; they will always be etched into the deepest parts of my mind forever. I had left the hospital, still very scared and confused, and made it to the streets. That’s when it filled my sight. It was terrible, it was horrible. I think it might have been New York, or at least, whatever was left of it.

They were everywhere, buildings, as far as the eye could see. At least, that’s how it should have been. Many buildings were lying in heaps and few buildings were actually still standing, and many of those few that were still there were not entirely intact. The streets were cracked, and the walls of any remaining buildings were cracked as well; shattered glass was everywhere. The wreckage didn’t look new either. It looked as though it had to have happened a long time ago, at least a few years back.

It was like a warzone. No, it was a warzone. I’m pretty sure I freaked out at this point. I didn’t even know my name, and yet, somehow I had suddenly found myself in a ruined, desolate city with no one to explain things to me, with no one to help me. I remember wandering aimlessly among the city ruins, but I found nothing; no answers, no people, nothing that would help me. I panicked. I had not even the slightest clue of what to do, or where to go. I remember that I had started crying at that point, and I also started to weep, and then I also remember that I began yelling, and screaming. I was scared, I was frightened, I was frustrated, and I was angry.

That’s when I met him. He called himself a scavenger, said his name was Mr. Quilom. I remember feeling relieved at seeing another person. I also remember asking him many things. He had answered my questions the best he could, but failed to provide the answers for which I sought. I did, however, learn many things from him. I learned about the fall of the government, and I learned of something called the Resistance Movement. I remember being told in brief about the war, and about what had followed it. I had known that the man was trying to help me, but he only succeeded in raising more questions that I wanted answers for.

I remember the man offering residence in his home to me, I remember accepting. He brought me to his home, if you could still call it one. It had appeared little more than a rubbish heap, at least on the outside. “It’s not the best home,” I remember he had said, “but it’s certainly better than nothing.” I remember silently agreeing with him as we went inside.

I had decided to stay with Quilom that day, and I even became a scavenger myself. Of course, I was not as interested in seeking what riches I might find in the rubbles of society like Quilom, but in finding the answers for which I so longed.

I have always searched, and I will always seek. I will never stop searching, not until I have my answers, not until I know. And so, I search everyday; day in and day out. I search continuously, in the hopes that I shall find what I seek, and that my questions will be answered. I will always be in search, never ceasing, for this is my future, and this, is my destiny.