FYS: Turned Tables
Apr. 15th, 2015 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalCanon authenticity extremely doubtful, but it was too neat an idea not to write down.
“He's walking up.”
“You're sure?”
“Of course I am. Sir, can you hear me? Sir?”
He opened his eyes, blinking as the light touched them.
“Ah, you are awake,” the owner of the first voice said. A small Anglo man wearing hospital scrubs, a traditional and thoroughly superfluous stethoscope hanging from his neck marking him as a physician of some sort. He had a round, balding head, his expression pinched, and his voice was high pitched and querulous.
He sounds like Piglet, came the unbidden thought. That was funny, though he couldn't say why.
He couldn't even say who Piglet was.
The second person in the room was a raccoon morph, also in hospital scrubs. Some kind of nursing unit he guessed. He was laying on a diagnostic bed in a windowless hospital room, a sheet covering his body up to his neck. He tried to move an arm experimentally, but nothing happened. That's very bad.
“What happened?” he asked. His own voice sounded deeper, most resonant than the doctor's, though perhaps that was just ego talking. I have an ego?
Definitely, he decided.
“You were in an accident, sir,” the balding doctor said. “You're paralyzed, but the damage is localized. We anticipate nanotherapy should have you back on your feet in 24 hours.”
“Sir, do you remember your name?” the nursing morph prompted.
He felt deep worry run through his mind, unformed. “No,” he admitted. The amnesia and paralysis both seemed a lesser worry. Someone was missing from this scene. “Where is Anna?” he asked. The name came to his lips, but no face was attached to it. That loss only deepened his worry.
“Who is Anna?” the doctor asked, his tone careful.
“The most beautiful woman in the world,” he answered without hesitation. Then why can I not remember her face?
“Sir, do you remember your own name?” the doctor prompted.
“I...” He shook his head. “There's nothing there.”
“Perhaps seeing your face will help.” The doctor motioned to the nursing morph, who brought up a mirror.
He looked back at a face he didn't recognize. A Indian man in his late fifties, with deep black eyes, long black hair shot through with gray rising high on his forehead, a thick moosh brushing his upper lip, the corners waxed to elegant curving points. A distinguished face, he thought. But not mine.
“Where is Anna?” he asked again.
“I'm afraid you'll have to tell us that. I think she's very important to you, isn't she?” The doctor's expression seemed to grow more intense. “Isn't she?”
“She's my world.”
“Don't worry Mr. Khan. You can start looking for her in a day or two. For now we'll keep you here,” A very peculiar smile crossed the doctor's face, “for your safety.”
“He's walking up.”
“You're sure?”
“Of course I am. Sir, can you hear me? Sir?”
He opened his eyes, blinking as the light touched them.
“Ah, you are awake,” the owner of the first voice said. A small Anglo man wearing hospital scrubs, a traditional and thoroughly superfluous stethoscope hanging from his neck marking him as a physician of some sort. He had a round, balding head, his expression pinched, and his voice was high pitched and querulous.
He sounds like Piglet, came the unbidden thought. That was funny, though he couldn't say why.
He couldn't even say who Piglet was.
The second person in the room was a raccoon morph, also in hospital scrubs. Some kind of nursing unit he guessed. He was laying on a diagnostic bed in a windowless hospital room, a sheet covering his body up to his neck. He tried to move an arm experimentally, but nothing happened. That's very bad.
“What happened?” he asked. His own voice sounded deeper, most resonant than the doctor's, though perhaps that was just ego talking. I have an ego?
Definitely, he decided.
“You were in an accident, sir,” the balding doctor said. “You're paralyzed, but the damage is localized. We anticipate nanotherapy should have you back on your feet in 24 hours.”
“Sir, do you remember your name?” the nursing morph prompted.
He felt deep worry run through his mind, unformed. “No,” he admitted. The amnesia and paralysis both seemed a lesser worry. Someone was missing from this scene. “Where is Anna?” he asked. The name came to his lips, but no face was attached to it. That loss only deepened his worry.
“Who is Anna?” the doctor asked, his tone careful.
“The most beautiful woman in the world,” he answered without hesitation. Then why can I not remember her face?
“Sir, do you remember your own name?” the doctor prompted.
“I...” He shook his head. “There's nothing there.”
“Perhaps seeing your face will help.” The doctor motioned to the nursing morph, who brought up a mirror.
He looked back at a face he didn't recognize. A Indian man in his late fifties, with deep black eyes, long black hair shot through with gray rising high on his forehead, a thick moosh brushing his upper lip, the corners waxed to elegant curving points. A distinguished face, he thought. But not mine.
“Where is Anna?” he asked again.
“I'm afraid you'll have to tell us that. I think she's very important to you, isn't she?” The doctor's expression seemed to grow more intense. “Isn't she?”
“She's my world.”
“Don't worry Mr. Khan. You can start looking for her in a day or two. For now we'll keep you here,” A very peculiar smile crossed the doctor's face, “for your safety.”
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Date: 2015-04-16 06:05 pm (UTC)no subject
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vacationvengeance will be terrible...no subject
Date: 2015-04-16 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-16 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-04-16 11:12 pm (UTC)You and I already KNOW where the Groupmind has serious issues...