Dreamer

Amnesia

"Honey, if you can hear me, keep fighting, it doesn't matter what the stats say, its up to you. If you live, if you die, its all up to you, whatever fight you've got in you you've got to use it now. You've been in surgery for a long time, and you're going to have be here for a while longer." The anaesthetist whispered in my ear, and the sound of a heartbeat gave a steady rhythm to the random assortment of different pitches of metal clinking.

"It hurts."

And the deep clang of a fallen kidney dish, disturbed the music. I could hear them, but not like normal. Its like I wore sound isolating headphones, like being in a bubble. The darkness had faded away, and I was seeing burnt orange. Then, as I opened my eyes, I saw them. Their eyes astounded, faces covered by sky blue surgical masks, and I saw it. The blood. Covering their gloved hands, and the instruments they used.

"Would you mind if I could have some pain relief please? I had a lovely sleep, then I just woke up and it hurts." Their eyes flitted to my middle. It then registered in my mind where I was. "Oh, I'm okay, we're okay...aren't we?" I said in a breathless gasp. My stomach was held open by a metal contraption, and I could see blood and organs. "I feel...slightly dizzy...I'm just going to..."

* * * * *

Music. That is the only constant thing in life as everything counts as music. Every beating heart, every laugh, every gasp, and every scream. Even the silent, quiet moments in life are just rests in the manuscript of life. I could hear the metronome from where I was, wherever that was, but for the first time since I can remember, it was the first time there was no music for the metronome to keep a steady track of. It was just.....emptiness. There was no music in my head, and no words or thoughts. Just silence. As I looked around me, everything looked normal. The ceiling was white, the sheets were white, the curtains cream, but the metronome was not a metronome. It was a heart monitor.

The door swung open and a tall stern woman entered. A grey pencil skirt and white blouse clung to her skeletal form, and a stethoscope hung around her neck. She picked up the clip board that rested on the foot of my bed, scanned it, and looked back at me. "It seems, that you are a very lucky operative. The ones thrust in the deep end very rarely come back in one piece. Alive I mean. Let me introduce myself. I will be your psychiatrist for the coming days along with your interrogator as nothing you will say will be private. The service needs to know how you got out...and needs to know what information you retrieved during your...shall we say...visit."

"I don't need a shrink." I whisper.

"No. I imagine that someone with your specialty cannot be mentally helped...just a second." After receiving a quiet text, she left the room soundlessly to meet a grave man outside. Expensive suit and watch, but trying to blend in. 85 seconds passed before the doctor of psychology and the man in the suit came back into the room. "Your situation has been reviewed and our sessions are cancelled. We do not need to know anything that happen to you...even though we can guess...as the security of hundreds of operatives across the globe, not only yours, will be in serious danger and their covers blown if you decide to tell us anything, as records of our conversations will be kept on paper and digitally as proof of that we know of such individuals that threaten the lives of around 0.0014% of the global population, an estimation that we have predicted."

"So why can't you help those people?"

They stared at me, with total confusion, glanced at each other. "We cannot help those people. 1 million people that we cannot hope to protect, as we do not understand the people we would try to protect, nor do we know our enemy. Decades ago, our enemies used to be countries or public organisations. Then we moved to a much colder war of terrorism, but we could still track them down by careless mistakes they made and the people they used to know. Now, the organisations we face are nameless, with ghosts who work for them, who have goals that even the most imaginative sci-fi follower, like yourself, can only begin to understand. And so once you are healed and rested you must return home. Your family will return a few days after you. And just remember, it is not only your safety that is in danger if you dare talk about your experiences, but everyone you ever knew or talked to. Good day to you." And they both left with no evidence that they were ever there.

If you could save 1 million people you would wouldn't you? No questions asked. But life has a way of balancing things out. If you save 1 million today, how many die tomorrow? God, who the hell even thought that philosophy was a good subject. It just gives you a bloody headache.

Days progressed with only doctors and nurses coming to check up on me. I spoke no words, but my mind whirled with what the man and woman had told me the first day I woke up.

"Hi, honey, its time for you to leave. You've been doing great, but we can't help you anymore, so if you can just fill in this form you can be on your way." She handed me the clipboard and all of a sudden the rest bars ended and the music started. But it wasn't any type of music I had heard of before. It was random, confusing, breathless. Chaotic. Everything that had made me who I was, was lost.

Name :

The first simple question on the form, and I couldn't answer it. I couldn't answer anything on the form, and all I knew was that there was a taxi waiting to take me home, wherever that was.