Caged Birds

Chapter 6

I wake, surrounded by white. Am I in heaven? I shake the thought off quickly as a stabbing pain rushes through my body. I wince, but I'm sure I can handle it.
What happened? Did I get bombed? Was I shot? Whatever happened, it's lucky I got to a hospital quickly I guess. It's probably the Pweden's fault.
I frown, annoyed that I'm unable to remember anything. I close my eyes and see a young face, with wide eyes and a worried expression. The next thing I notice, though, is how green his eyes are. Maybe it's a soldier I had killed in battle, and I dreamt about him. It must be, because there is no way that I know him.

I look up to see a doctor rushing in, checking machines and then checking my body twice, assessing every inch. I go limp, feeling comfortable and warm despite the hard mattress I'm lying on.
I look up at the doctor with sleepy eyes.
"What happened?" I ask, feeling stupid for not knowing such a simple thing.
She frowns, seeming concerned, and sits on the edge of my bed, hands in her lap professionally. My voice sounds cracked and low, my lips dry, as though I haven't opened my mouth in days. It hurts, but not as much as my head.
"You don't remember..?" I shake my head, watching her curiously. I see her sigh, but she quickly gathers herself together.
"You were underground. With... with a pweden soldier. When we found you both, you were holding him in your lap, telling him it would be okay. The general is still confused as to why, but he said that he wouldn't question you until you were well again."
I nod slowly, pretending I understand, but in fact it feels like the opposite. Are they certain? How would I get underground, and more importantly, with a Pweden soldier? My mind races with so many thoughts it becomes hard to keep track of them all. So many questions, but so little answers. I swallow down my rising fear and stare at the doctor with a sigh.

Suddenly I hear a loud noise outside the hospital, though it seems distant. I wince when I realise what it is- a bomb. Somehow, the doctor notices, and she puts a hand on my shoulder.
"It'll be hard to get back into the swing of things..." she said softly, "The general wants you to go home, take a break, or at least that's what he says. They need you, Christopher, so you can't push yourself to your limits; you must heal quickly and well." The doctor stood up abruptly and walked out. I watched, listening to the demanding sound of heels clicking on the sparkling white hospital floors.

I put my head in my hands, feeling hopeless. Why can't a remember? I have a sudden urge to hit the wall beside me. I should be out there, fighting those evil, cold hearted Pwedens. That is one thing I can be sure of anymore. Or is it? I was cradling one, for God's sake! What kind of man was I before? How hard had I hit my head?

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Getting back onto my feet is much more difficult than I had anticipated. My legs shake like jelly, struggling to control themselves, let alone hold my entire body weight.

It had been 4 weeks since I was rescued, or that's how the majority of the hospital describes it. Each and every nurse and visitor tiptoes around me cautiously, as though if they say too much I will either kill someone or burst into tears. My memory is still hiding the darkest secret in the hospital walls, still dangling it just out of my reach.

If the tiptoeing had begun to decrease, just slightly, it may have been easier to let go; but in a month, I am sure that it has done the opposite.

The General visits me every other day, or tries to- the war is beginning to worsen, and it has been implied more than once that I'm the man at fault for the increased tension. His eyes look dull as he watches me struggle, sweating profoundly, to walk 5 measly steps to my wheelchair. The wrinkles on his forehead have pushed themselves to the surface, bulging like skin coloured veins. His hair, once a fine, chocolate brown colour has more streaks of grey and white than his natural hair, making him look 40 years older than he really is. The middle aged man I struggling to focus; it was difficult enough to watch his best soldier look as weak as I do, but even more difficult when a raging war is going on just outside the window, with his own blood dying with every minute that passes. His body has outgrown his age, and its all on me and this Pweden freak.

I gasp as I reach the chair, collapsing into it and feeling as though I had just run a marathon. The General clasps his bony, sweaty hands together, and I can see in his eyes that he is trying hard not to do the same thing in the spare chair next to mine. I look down at my own hands, shaking in pain and exhaustion. Guilt runs through my body, freezing like ice and making me feel like a frozen swamp. I want to tell the man opposite to me to just sit in the goddamn chair, but my mouth stays tightly closed as I strain to get my breath back.