Old Drafts

First Draft

(Content/trigger warnings: Written mentions of hospital settings, brief implications of s/ic/de (u, i), weird hallucinations?, cringy old writing)

And he suddenly jolted awake.

This man found himself in a hospital room of some sorts. His first thought is to wonder why he was here in the first place. Then his head ached with a great pain, and he noticed the painful part was wrapped with a bandage. This must be the reason. But how did he get such injury? He tried to remember, but all he saw was nothing. Nothing to help him remember clearly. The only thing he remembers is a name.

"Frank."

Frank. A clear-sounded name came to his mind. He assumed that was his name or a friend's. Who knows. Did he even have friends?

Looking around the room, it seems no one has visited yet. Just plain old white everywhere. Except for some flowers placed by his right. Daisies that were sent by an anonymous person. He knows that they wish he would get well soon. He may have forgotten everything, but at least he didn't forget his knowledge.

It was kind of the person to offer something, but it wasn't enough. He wanted someone by him to at least help him somehow. Someone to help him recover from the injuries, someone to help him remember who he was, someone to help him with anything.

He tried getting up. It was painful, but he didn't mind. He walked up to a mirror that was just standing there in the middle of the room. He was tall, and had smooth, fixed, but short black hair. His skin pale as the marble floor by his feet. Cold silver eyes stared at the reflection with a tired look. His expression was blank.

"God I look messy," he thought.

Then suddenly, the door has opened.

A kind-looking nurse stepped in. "Oh, you're awake!" she gasped. "I was doubting you would ever wake up or fall into a coma or something, judging by how high you fell from."

"I fell from a tower...? But why?" the man thought to himself again. Maybe because of suicide? Some friend dared him to do it? Was the friend that "Frank" his mind kept echoing to him? He didn't know.

"If you're asking, yes, you fell from a tower," the nurse exclaimed as if she was reading his mind or something. "It's still unknown why you would do that though. Do you?"

The man remained silent.

"But it was pretty surprising how you managed to survive that high of a fall," the nurse mumbled. "Anyways, we would first like to know what your name is. What's your name, Sir?"

"Frank, Frank, Frank," echoes the whispers in his mind once again. Are the voices trying to convince that he is the "Frank" guy they're babbling about? If so, maybe that's who he really is? Maybe he's getting his memories back again?

"Frank." the man sputtered back.

"Frank what?" the nurse asked again after scribbling something on a clipboard.

Now this was hard for Frank. He remembered his first name, but not his surname. He tried to remember deeply, but all that came back was... Nothing.

"Sorry, I cannot remember..." Frank apologized.

"No, no. It's okay." The nurse said. "I understand. From that injury you're probably amnesiac. But you must be getting them back! Or something. I don't know. But it'll take time, and you'll recover, okay?""...Okay."

Then the nurse said goodbye and get well soon, and left Frank all by himself. Before he could ask if she could stay a little more, she already left, leaving Frank all alone in the room.

The pale white room of pale things. Except for the daisies though.

Frank laid on his bed, trying to find a way if he can still remember anything else besides his name.

After a few tries, he remembered some vivid, but blurry images. They were all red and white. Red and white, red and white. There was also a short, but clear image of him hiking through a snowy place, and seeing dead soldiers around. Before he could ask another mental question, another flash of blurry red and white images rolled over his mind, the red getting gradually overtaking the white every second.

He didn't understand.