First, I want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone reading. This story got more support on the first chapter than I thought it would, and it's really amazing. You guys are all great! I loved all the honest comments I got about what you guys thought. There are some high expectations now so... I'm going to do my best to be up to par! Again, huge thanks to everyone who voted, commented, read, added, etc. 

So now, I present you with chapter two of The Memory Jar. :) 


            Beep. Beep. Beep.

            The consistent, high-pitched beeping sound bothers me. Whatever’s causing it, I want it to stop. I just want to go back to sleep.

            Beep. Beep. Beep.

            What is it? There’s got to be a reason that the beeping noise is waking me up.

            As my mind comes further into consciousness, I realize my body aches. It’s not too horrible of a pain, but I feel like my limbs are made from molasses; it’s hard to move them right away.

            Cracking my eyes open, an off-white colored room swims into my vision. Built into the wall is a wide door, and a metal cabinet off to the far left. I turn my head slightly and see a small bedside table is placed directly to my right. A squat lamp is sitting towards the back of it and the only other thing placed on it is a silver bracelet.

            Slowly, I swivel my head around to take in my surroundings on my other side. There’s a plastic chair sitting very close to me, and in it, a dark haired, sleeping boy. 

            Frowning, I gingerly push myself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly as a pain sparks in my chest. Only now do I realize that there are two tubes feeding into my nostrils, wrapping around my head and connecting to a strange machine by my bedside. My left arm has been wrapped in thick gauze, and I peer under my thin hospital gown to see that my torso is also wrapped. Something thick, like a headband, is encircling my head, and I’m not sure why it’s there, though I figure I shouldn’t attempt to remove it.

            There’s also an IV connected to the inner flesh of my arm, feeding God knows what into my veins. My pointer finger has a plastic clamp on it that connects to a large monitor with numbers and three flashing lines to measure my heart rate and possibly something else. I can’t be sure.

What is with all these wires? I don’t like being hooked up to these foreign devices, having no idea what they pump into my system and do to my body. I want out of here.

            I look at the boy again and frown. I want to reach over and poke him; to wake him and ask why I’m in a hospital, but it hurts too much to try.

            “Hello?” I whisper to him instead, watching his sleeping face. Looking at him now, I can take in his dark hair that’s styled messily onto the top of his head. His ears are both pierced with black studs to fills the holes, and he has some barely noticeable stubble covering his jaw. I also notice that his right ear is nearly touching his right shoulder in what must be an uncomfortable position. His clothes seem to be very carefully put together and nice, expensive looking even.

            To be honest, he looks like someone that I, personally, would try to stay away from if I saw him on the street.

            And I get absolutely no response from him.

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