I'm Going Ghost....

Rise and Shine ^ 5

Opal: It's been a while now, hasn't it?

Jazz: Yeah, I haven't made the scene it what, four chapters.

Opal: You had last chapter. It was your point of view. Don't you remember?

Jazz: Ugh, no. I've been over this enough times with my doctor. I don't remember these things half as well as you.

Opal: Well, let's be--

Jazz: When am I going to do something important?

Opal: I was just about to start the chapter, but now you've interrupted me. What else did you forget?

Jazz: Um, nothing! Ugh. Just get on with it.

      "Don't push yourself, Jasmine. There is no shame to being in a wheelchair after a four year coma," a woman's voice told me as I struggled along the rails, "besides they're ecto-powered now, so you'll be going even faster than most of us."

      "I know, Dr. Camden, but if I can't just be sitting around doing nothing. Besides call me Jazz; I've been saying it for years."

      "I'll consider it, Ms. Fenton," Dr. Camden paused before asking, "Alright, should I leave you with Bach to calm your nerves?"

       I pushed another leg in front of the other, saying, "Actually, Beethoven would do me wonders."

       "If you say so. Holler to Mr. Ashley or me if you need anything."

       "Thanks," I pushed out while Beethoven's fifth symphony filled my auditorium as I pushed through the first wave of dizziness and took my first step.

       That had been the sum total of my existence for the passed while. I could just remember the earliest parts of it, like a dolphin jumping off the wall which Mr. Ashley, my nurse, told me had been three years ago. It certainly didn't feel like three years, but my memory was foggy. I knew that my name was Jasmine Fenton and that I lived at Fenton Works, but most everything else was out of date or I kept to myself.

       The uneasy expression of Mr. Ashley upon my offering that information told me that something was not altogether right with my home, or my family. I knew the latter already, worse actually than the weirdness to which I had become used. Mr. Ashley only nodded carefully after I spoke, not supplying any further knowledge about how my parents or brother were doing. The feeling of dread turned in my stomach like an angry swarm of butterflies, but we never touched the subject again while I made my recovery.

      To ease myself back into active life, I was allowed to listen to just about any music and watch just about any movie. I've listened to a lot of Bach and Tchaikovsky to settle my nerves mingled with a little Beethoven to spice up the monotony of the hospital. Mozart made his own debut, and Vivaldi with Chopin were a welcome respite as I tried to figure out what the heck was going on. Hundreds of documentaries had helped me rebuild my vocabulary. Thousands of Sudoku and word puzzles helped me through finding out what I was going to do with myself in a world which had aged faster than me.

      Other coma patients acclimated easily to the changes of technology which had been sweeping through Amity Park which was struggling to survive just beyond the borders of the Republic of Washington, what remained from the U.S. Not me though, I was under while the technology was in development, and when it made the newspaper, which no one had or read anymore, and when it became mass-produced after doomsday. Mr. Ashley, I was grateful, took the time to fish around for the puzzles for me while I tried to get my bearings.