Memory Loss

inevitably so.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sun shining brightly down upon the large and unoccupied field that surrounded the two struggling lady-like figures and the tall one grabbing them by their shirt collars. One is a little girl, no older than eight, and the other clearly her mother. They both give forth their best efforts to get away from the intimidating tall figure, albeit their attempts are no use against the culprit's firm yet rough grip.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

There is nothing clearly showing the person's identity other than the muscular figure that gives away the fact that he is a man. Practically tossing the girl to the ground, he engulfs the woman in his arms and he whispers his defenses in her ear. His button up is now stained-red as he lets the knife in his hand glide across the woman's neck, leaving the little girl to watch as her mother's throat is slit in front of her.

Beep. Beep.

The man lets the mother's limp body fall to the ground, causing her to immediately become surrounded by the tall grass. Taking a moment to regain himself, the man takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to control his shaking. He opens his eyes, glancing at the lifeless body beneath him and then to the small girl weeping next to it. He grabs her roughly by her thick hair, tugging her closer to him. In his opinion, he'd given her an extremely tame death compared to her mother's. A simple knife through the heart.

It was only best to put the girl out of her misery. Besides, she'd probably take her own life years later once realizing she is truly alone in this world - all because of him.

Beep.

-

2:23P.M.

Cerulean eyes slowly opened and the first thing clouding his vision were the bright lights surrounding the unfamiliar room. That single word stuck out - unfamiliar. It seemed as if everything around was of a foreign concept at the time. Many, many questions remained to be answered. Where was he? Who was he? How did he get there, and what happened beforehand?

Up.

Up.

No matter how hard he tried, he seemed unable to perform this simple act and was seemingly glued to this strange bed that was not his. The most moving he could do was the uneven rise and fall to his chest from his staggered breathing. Closing those blue orbs once more, he concentrated on moving at least one of his limbs. Baby steps. Mustering up all the strength he could manage, he rose a few fingers on his right hand, eventually raising his whole hand and bunching it into a fist. It was uncontrollably shaky and almost hurt, but he somehow succeeded. Opening his eyes, he finally took the time to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

Hospital room. Clearly. An isolated one, at that. The main theme was white - as most hospital rooms were. Perhaps it was to give it a peaceful look. A look of cleanliness - of reassurance. That was absolutely the last thing that would come to mind in a room like this. All that entered in his train of thought was the inevitable reminder of death that would eventually come. The constant sound of beeping monitors next to your bed and indistinct conversations from the nurses outside of your room was enough to drive him off the wall. Perhaps it would be so to ease the patients into their release. Or perhaps he was simply crazy.

Empty. Notably so. No flowers in vases, cards, or even any of those stuffed bears with 'Get Well Soon!' written in cursive on a stuffed heart from the gift shops. Seeing this immediately sent a sharp pang through his chest. He had family, didn't he? Of course he did, every one had a parent, or a sibling, at least. But there was no sign of that here. There was really no sign of anything in this room.