Puzzle With a Piece Missing

1/1/202X

The first thing Tine saw when he forced his eyes open was the clouds.

They were orange, dyed by the setting sun. Behind them, the sky was a darkening blue, and as he let out a choked breath, fog floated from his mouth, grey smoke mingling with the air.

The second thing he saw was the people surrounding him. They seemed rushed, kneeling in the red snow as if the cold didn't bother them. It wasn't bothering Tine; he felt numb like all his senses were dulled. His mind was moving sluggishly as he tried to figure out what was happening — but everything was blank. He couldn't conjure a single thought to his head, and he lay there, trying to breathe and choking on air.

He heard a faint screaming — raw and pained. And he wasn't sure what that was.

Just sounds, white noises ... TINE!!

Something was quickly placed over his mouth and nose, and oxygen rushed to his lungs. The people surrounding him were talking, but he could barely hear what they were saying — all he heard was a violent ringing in his ears, constant and never-ending.

As he stared at them, watching their mouths and bodies move above him, his eyes began to slide shut, suddenly too heavy to keep open. He didn't fight the urge, and let it overtake him until there was nothing left but darkness.

So, this was how Tine spent the new year. On the slick wet road, half-dead ... half-alive — it's, however, you look at it.

__________

2/1/202X

When Tine woke up, he had no idea where he was. He could barely creak his eyes open, letting them flutter just long enough for him to see a plain white ceiling above him before they snapped shut again. There was a dull pain pounding in his head, and his chest felt like it had been torn apart and sewn back together.

Maybe, it had. Seemed more likely.

The ringing was gone from his ears, but it was like someone had covered his right ear, blocking any noise from entering it. He didn't understand what had happened or what was going on, and the confusion of it all just made him want to go back to sleep.

But while he lay there, letting the pain wash over him, a pair of voices started talking quietly close by. He could only make out a few snatches of words, none of which made any sense to him.

"... flipped eight times ... critical ... might not ... I'm sorry ..."

"... anything ... can't live ... please ... coma ..."

"... try ... possible ... promises ... extensive ..."

Tine couldn't hear anything else that was said after that, so he just let the darkness slowly come back to him, enveloping him just as a door somewhere opened, and a set of footsteps walked in.

The room was dark now, the only light coming was from somewhere outside the glass door. Tine's vision was fuzzy and kept dancing in and out of the dark, and his mind could barely comprehend what was going on. There was some sort of tube shoved in his mouth, held in place by straps wrapped around his head, and he could hear the sounds of different machines beeping and whirring beside him. He could feel a faint, dull ache pounding through his body, though there was no extreme pain; he felt almost weightless like he was floating through the air instead of lying in a hospital bed.

Maybe this was what death felt like. He hoped so. It felt like being high. It felt kind of nice.

Off to the side, someone moved, and Tine realised there was a hand on his arm, very light and gentle and warm. The person shifted so that they were hovering over Tine, their face shifting in and out of focus so that he couldn't make out any of their features.