# ~Broken Image~

Title: ~Broken Image~
Status: Complete
Characters: Naomi, Ripley
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
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My eyes flutter open as distant ambience stirs me from a deep state of unconsciousness. For a few moments, I can only focus on the pain; the splitting headache, my strained joints as I begin to rustle, and the searing feeling that lines my lungs and flares on every breath. A groan escapes my lips as the feeling tries to overpower me back into unconsciousness; I'm not used to feeling pain, and this unfamiliarity makes the experience all the worse, at least I'd imagine. For all of the successes I've worked for, I must've failed where it counts, and the fish-out-of-water feeling that I've tried to desperately avoid all my life comes rushing into me like water into the lungs of a drowning woman instinctively gasping for breath. Every thought distorts violently in my head, never finding any time to cement itself, instead passing by rapidly and leaving me with unintelligible pieces. Here I lie, barely alive on a hard tile floor, bathing in blood that warms my skin but leaves me hollow.
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At least, I thought I was. The ceiling above me looked similar at a glance, but after several minutes and a few slight eye movements, I identify an unfamiliar room through my clouded vision. The distorting pain in my head isn't shrieking like it used to, instead being replaced with waves that cause me to wince every time I think. I must not be dead; or if I was, this wasn't as advertised by Raptor Jesus. Instinctively, I want to get up and see where I've been placed. As I give the command to my body to gently glide across the surface I'm lying upon, my head shrieks once again. The burning feeling of an overheating engine reverberates itself through my brain, and I waive any errant thoughts from my mind to give it time to cool. It takes awhile, but the feeling goes away, leaving me alone in my own darkness. I try again, this time asking my sense of touch politely for information without moving any muscles. I can handle the wave of pain that accompanies this request, but I do get an answer. I'm lying on something soft, a gentle cloud-like object that my body practically melts into. It should be comfortable, but right now nothing is. My neck is supported by a large object that props up and cradles my head like a mother to her child. This must be a bed. Reaching such a conclusion makes the inferno return, but I ride it out.
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Letting the searing pain subside again, I decide to keep making progress, slowly but surely. Rather than moving my head to look, I decide to listen. I try to remain quiet, as if hiding from a predator, and let my environment be heard. A soft and steady rhythm of beeps comforts me, as it's the only thread I have to the outside world right now. Like a cruel game of Red Light Green Light, over the next.. while, I slowly make more observations about my surroundings and deduce my current location. This is a hospital room; the sight of an EKG monitor next to my bed, the source of the beeping, all but confirms this. I must've received some kind of head injury. Falling down the stairs, perhaps? Clumsiness was always something I avoided, so I rule it out. The distorted memories of wetness, the smell of metal, and the sight of red incite a slight panic in me, one that sears my brain moreso than normal. There was a lot of blood. Was it my blood? What happened?
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I close the line of questioning; chances are, I won't remember. There's nobody in the room with me, and the loneliness of my position begins to set in. Hospitals have doctors and nurses, right? Do any of them know that I'm alive? I hope I haven't been written off as some kind of lost cause. There are two windows in the room, one from which sunlight shines through between stems of flowers, and the other which lies between me and a blur of movement and activity. Using what energy I have left, I weakly call out. Whatever escaped my mouth, it wasn't anything more than a pained groan. It'd have to do, for now. I try again. Again, nothing; my brain pleads for me to stop as flames lap at its edges. I make one last effort, demanding my arm to move. An inferno collapses onto me in an instant, but the weak limb begins to move, hovering in the air in desperation as it reaches toward the window. The pain gets the better of me, and my arm falters like a limp noodle. The consequences of my movement ravage me for several moments as I begin to regret what I had done, but suddenly, the assaulting noise of creaking wood fills the room and further contributes to my pain. Are those voices? Words being spoken to me. I can't understand them, they only bring pain. Keeping my eyes shut, I brace the inferno for as long as I can. I feel like I'm about to pass out, and the pain causes me to groan instinctively. Only a few moments later, pain shoots through my arm rather than my head. I'm not entirely sure what just happened, but the flames begin to die down, and I can think properly. The moment of clarity is spoiled by an impending cloud of darkness that descends upon my reality, one that I can't escape from. Once again, I drift aimlessly through the void. My reptile brain and limbic system at least have the courtesy to occupy my mind with dancing lights and fuzzy feelings in the mean time.
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~
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The darkness is pulled from me like a blanket from a child in the morning. I almost grew to enjoy its presence, as the impending light brings pain with its clarity. Still, I open my eyes to the world, and the pain that used to accompany it is, for the most part, absent. It feels like time has passed, but I can't be sure exactly how long it's been. I don't really care, though; I can finally get a clearer look around the room I've been left in. At least, I would have, but whatever small movements I've made has set off some strange beeping, different from the EKG. As I begin to wonder what exactly the noise means, the door to my room opens, and two figures briskly enter. Both imposing figures now stand in the room, watching over me. One is dressed in a fancy white coat, and the other is coated by blue. Words fill the air, and I have to adjust my ears as I try to understand what they're saying to me.
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"--mi. Ar- --- -wake?"
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I couldn't make out what was said. In response to my silence, the voice echoes again.
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"C-- you hear us?"
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I can hear them. I can understand them. The fire that prevented me from acting earlier has faded, but it hasn't disappeared entirely; this is made ever more present as I try to nod my head and make some kind of noise in affirmation. Whatever I did, it seemed to work; both figures seem to smile in response to my efforts, and quickly jot down notes on paper. They turn to each other, having a quiet discussion that I don't get to overhear. They turn back to me, saying something that I can't quite understand, and leave the room shortly after. The door shuts with a click, and I feel lonely once again. I continue to examine the room; on the other side of the bed, across from the EKG monitor, lies an end table that's been adorned with flowers and paper cards. The sight of so many sentimental tokens brings a smile to my face; whatever happened, people seem to care about me. I sit up and try my best to reach over to the table without scalding my brain again; I grab a few of the cards softly, bringing them onto my lap. Perhaps these will give me a clue as to what happened.
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This card seemed to be religious themed, a prayer to Raptor Jesus to oversee my safety. The sentiment of well wishes puts a smile on my face, but I notice something's wrong. Signed at the bottom, in cursive, is a name; 'Rosa'. It's a name I've heard before, but I haven't attached to anybody in particular in my memory. Maybe a friend of a friend who just knows about me? I move onto the next card, which is definitely more secular. A beautiful hand-drawn heart adorns the cover, and the kind words inside bring a smile to my face. This card seems to be signed, as well; the name at the bottom reads, 'Erin'. As much as it hurts, I scour my mind for a face to accompany with the name 'Erin', but I can't. A frown covers my face as disappointment sets in. I go through the cards faster, skimming over their contents to get to the signed name. 'Chuck'. 'Stacy'. 'Reed'. 'Samantha'.
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I don't know who these people are. Every card I have is signed with a name that I don't recognize. There's more cards in the pile, and while the thought of scouring them crosses my mind, I simply frown as I let the cards sit in my lap. None of my friends or family sent me anything, only people I've never met. I feel a lot lonelier than I had just a few moments ago; maybe I'll get a visitor, since the doctors know I'm awake now. Until then, there's not much I can do; I return the cards to the end table, and lie back down in the hospital bed. There's a small TV on the opposing wall, playing a channel I've never seen before. It's not exactly stimulating, but a break from conscious thought helps to reduce the heat that clouds my head.
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Sleep overtakes me. Time passes. I'm not sure how much, but it feels like a long time. As I wake up, I'm greeted by a strange human jumping into frame on the TV in slow motion. Any thought as to what was going on brings pain, so I take it at face value. After a few minutes of watching some kind of sitcom, the sound of the door being opened echoes through the room, and I slowly turn my head towards it. Into the room walks three figures; one dressed in a white coat like before, one dressed in a black cardigan, and the other in some kind of white button down shirt. The woman in the cardigan and the man in the dress shirt both beam in happiness as our eyes meet, and the man practically leaps forward while bellowing a relieved laughter. He wraps himself around me, causing my aching body to scream, and I desperately try to struggle from his grasp while groaning in pain. The doctor clearly recognizes this, and saves me from the painful embrace by firmly grabbing the man and pulling him away. Some amount of tension fills the room as the two whisper each other, and I'm left to wonder what just happened. Whatever it was, the man eventually just stares at me with teary eyes and a wide smile.
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A sob fills the room as he speaks, "S-Sorry.. Naomi, honey.. I'm so glad you're.." I have nothing to say to him; I appreciate the sentiment, but the situation was incredibly strange for me.
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Hoping to break the awkward silence, I decide to be direct; the words that stumble out of my mouth causes visible distress to the the couple.
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"Thanks.. b-but who are you?"
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~
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They're still talking back and forth, behind the glass that separates this room from the outside hallway. With the door shut, I can't hear what they're saying. The panicked man, who had begged me to recognize him as my own father, was speaking to the doctor. The woman, who seemed more disappointed than anything, didn't add much to whatever they were talking about. Eventually, they were directed to a nurse, who had begun to speak to them instead as the doctor re-entered the room. I decided to take a closer look at him; a human with pale skin that looked rather morose, like he'd had a long shift. He glances to a clipboard for a few moments before looking up at me, and our eyes meet; he offers a brief smile before speaking.
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"Your.. amnesia is to be expected, with an injury like this. Any delirium should clear up soon, a month or so at the latest. Your memories should return by then. As for physical therapy, that'll take much longer." The statement left me with more questions than answers, so I decided to ask.
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"What.. injury? What happened to me?" I ask.
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He winces, slowly nodding his head before responding, "There was.. a tragedy. You sustained a.. gunshot wound to the head. You've been in a comatose state for about four weeks now. It's a miracle you survived something as traumatic as this."
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The news leaves me stunned. Four weeks? *Shot* in the head? Why?
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Stressed words tumble out of my mouth as sweat beads at my forehead; "W-Who would do that?"
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His reluctance is obvious as he tries to think of an answer to my question. Eventually, he just shrugs, stating, "I'm not at liberty to say. There's a police investigation into the matter, they may provide you with details."
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Nodding slowly, I try to communicate my understanding. I can't remember much, but I've always tried to be a good person. I can't imagine anybody who'd want to.. kill me.
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Sensing the conversation is closing, the doctor remarks, "You need to rest. Try not to move around a lot, give yourself time to recover. If you're still having trouble remembering anything in a few weeks, we'll explore other options."
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He glances out of the window towards my supposed mother and father, then back to me. "You're a legal adult, so I'd recommend turning away visitors at the moment. It could.. destabilize your mental recovery."
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I nod once again, offering a simple "O-Okay." to the doctor. He nods his head, jotting something down on the clipboard before opening the door and leaving the room. I don't bother to look back to the window, instead opting to return to my comfortable position lying on the hospital bed. I didn't see any reason not to follow his advice. If they really were my parents, then I must have some kind of amnesia. I remember having a family, having friends, but I can't put a name or face to any of them. This idleness brings about a feeling of guilt; shouldn't I be obligated to try and remember? I don't want to hurt the people around me, but the doctor's recommendation was to wait, so I suppose only time will tell.
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~
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The passage of time rears its ugly head, and the next few days seem to bleed together. Hospital food isn't as good as it looks. Daily visits by my parents, who continue to plead for me to recognize them. I had to request a hand mirror from a nurse to actually look at myself, wondering if we bore any resemblance. From what little I could see, we did, but I didn't expect to have the majority of my head covered by bandages; They were changed daily, but I didn't even notice them most of the time. Though I may be disheveled, I actually quite like how I look. Soft, pale skin with orange two-tone.. I really do look like a Naomi. As pretty as I think I am, there's been no change in the memory department. It confuses me why the doctors would allow a detective to interview me like this, but maybe it'll help.
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The imposing figure had entered about a minute ago, and now stands at the edge of my bed. He's dressed in business casual clothing, wearing a police jacket and letting his badge hang by his neck from a metal chain. His face is hard to describe; I'm not sure if it's a side effect of the head injury, but I have trouble figuring out what exactly he is. Red, with splotches of green.. I'm not too sure. In one hand, he holds a small flipped-open notepad, and in the other, he clicks a pink pen into action.
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"I'm told you've had trouble remembering what happened." He states plainly.
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Nodding in response, he looks at me, saddened. Clearing his throat, he begins; "I'll.. fill you in. While attending Volcano High, you were involved in a shooting. Your, uh.. You had a significant other. His name was Naser. Do you remember him?"
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What an odd name. I search my memory, but it certainly doesn't ring any bells. I shake my head, and the detective sighs in response.
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Regardless, he continues, "Your significant other had a sister. Her name was Lucy." He looks at me expectantly, but I have nothing to offer him.
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"Lucy, evidently, did not like you. She tried to shoot you, but struck her brother instead. Four other students were killed in the hallway by gunfire before you were shot in the head inside of a classroom." His brow furrows as he looks at the notes, as if making some kind of connection.
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"If the shooting had already started, why didn't you-" The mumbled train of thought collapses as he looks at me, evidently realizing that, whatever he's asking, I won't be able to answer. He jots something down before closing the notepad and asking me one last question.
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"Are you sure you don't remember any of this? Do you know why your boyfriend's sister wanted you dead?"
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The experience of lying on the floor in a pool of blood is definitely one that has stuck with me. That's of no help, though, so I desperately search for something else. I do remember being in some kind of relationship. He was a nice, genuine person; someone I actually looked up to, but I'd never tell anybody that. He had his own issues, though. A family that burdened him with constant expectations, similar to my own. Maybe that's why we were together. We tried to help each other, but it didn't work. It must not have, since I don't recall those problems ever being resolved. That might have something to do with his sister.. and why she wanted me dead.
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Focusing my attention back at him, he continues to stare at me, practically pleading for some kind of response.
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I try to formulate some kind of statement to appease him; "I remember.. having someone. We had p-problems, but.. I don't know what they were, or.. why it ended so badly. M-Maybe.. Naser would know, if he's-"
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He slowly shakes his head. The response tells me otherwise. I frown upon realizing that, according to him, my high school sweetheart probably isn't alive anymore. Even without knowing who he was, a twisting pain finds itself coiled around my heart, the familiar feeling of guilt that had afflicted me earlier. The detective flips the notepad closed, pocketing it before taking out his wallet. He slips out a card, walking toward me and placing it on the end table.
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"If you remember *anything*, give me a call as soon as you can." His words are desperate; I can only imagine the kind of pressure investigating something like this would bring. I nod my head slowly, and he responds with one of his own before turning around and leaving the room. Once again, I've been left alone in this room, with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company. So many names, so many people I surrounded myself with, and I can't remember a single one of them. I close my eyes, focusing on the darkness in an attempt to make something out of nothing.
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Somewhere in my head lies an answer, but I can't.. It won't let me remember. In the deep recesses, all I can recover is the distorted memory of a recent date. The scenery of nature surrounded us as we chatted about.. something. I felt comfortable by his side, my heart fluttering every time we looked at each other. I look up, at his body, at his face, to try and recapture that feeling. A distorted mess of fluid, misplaced features and colors obscures any recognizable aspects of his form. I can't see him. I reach my hand out to grasp at him, but his body is the consistency of Jell-O; I can't get any kind of grip. The static intensifies, and I pull my arm back, fearing some kind of injury. I curse to myself, resenting my inability to picture what he looks like. I turn my attention to my surroundings, and I realize we're not alone. There's another two figures with us, and we seem to be a group. One is nearly identical to my partner, a swirling mess of distorted visual effects that I can't get a solid look at. Alongside it stands Anon, so I can only assume the figure is my boyfriend's sister; I manage to recall that the two were dating, and we had invited them on a double date to the park at some point. That must be where we are now. The grass, the flowers, the refreshing taste of water.. all these faint memories are useless to me if I can't remember the people I was with. Gritting my teeth, I sigh in frustration, adjusting my position on the bed. Maybe more sleep will help.
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...
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...
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Anon!
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My eyes shoot open as I begin to reach back into my memories. I can see him; the nearly featureless face of his, one that you'd miss in any kind of crowd. That wasn't a fault of my mind, he just looked almost indistinguishable. I remember him. He transferred from Rock Bottom. I helped him get a lunch card. He got humiliated by that slideshow. He was lonely, so I tried to set him up with.. with somebody. The momentum of my mind almost makes a breakthrough, but ultimately gets stopped dead in its tracks as I try to remember who he was with. Another distorted figure, the sister. Raptor Jesus, why can't I remember anybody else!?
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But this is a start. A name and a face that I can actually remember, that I can picture in my mind. I reach up to grasp at my head; the sudden influx of thought has lightly seared the edges of my brain. I relax my shoulders, letting myself fall into the comfort of the bed once again. I don't know where he is, or if he's even alive, but I need to find him. If I can remember him, then he might be able to trigger some chain reaction that will help me remember what happened.
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My hopes rests on the shoulders of a human who, if I recall correctly, doesn't particularly like me. I pray that I can change that.
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~TO BE CONTINUED?~