Losing Sight Of You ❦ Seonghwa

23 | Distant Voices

He opened his eyes, and his hands shot to his head as he struggled to sit up. A pounding headache seized him, and he groaned from the pain. With blurred vision, he raised his head and tried to focus on something that would aid him in recovering some sense of sight.

Once he could see clearly, he saw he was in a dim chamber and was surrounded by an impenetrable fog. Next, he shivered, and he hugged himself to recover some of the warmth he had lost during his long sleep; it helped somewhat, but it still wasn't enough.

On unsteady legs, he got to his feet and peered about him some more. It was hard to make anything out, and he was becoming more and more confused. Where was he? It wasn't somewhere he recognised, although the fog was like the one that had veiled his mind for the past year.

When had he last thought clearly? It was hard enough having to go through life without memories, but it was just as hard to not be able to think properly. Every day, he was more disoriented than the last, and it was disheartening. And what was even worse was that no one around him understood what he was going through.

It was like he was alone, despite always being surrounded by people.

For a while he was lost in deep thought, then he came back to reality when something darted past him, and it flew at the wall. Seonghwa turned in its direction and saw that it had stuck itself to the wall.

Creeping towards it, a large portrait soon appeared before him. His gaze drifted over the image that was being illustrated: it was of a man holding a woman in his arms. The man was looking down at her with affection in his eyes, and warmth radiated from the both of them as they embraced.

Studying the portrait further, Seonghwa recognised the woman as being Ali and the man was himself.

He took a step back, and his breathing picked up until it pained him to take in any more air. Collapsing to his knees, he gaped up at the portrait and tried to figure out what it was trying to tell him.

That was when more objects flew past him, and they too stuck themselves on the wall. He hurriedly swung his head from side to side as he took in all the images that were spread out in front of him.

All of them were of him and Ali.

And as he continued to squat down on the ground, something clicked in his fuzzy mind, and he realised they were memories of their past.

Somehow, they had found their way through the fog, and just like they were free, so was his mind. For the first time in a year, his head didn't feel like a tangled mess, and events that he had previously forgotten were now coming back to him.

Still stuck in his own world, the blackness continued to envelope him on all sides, but it wasn't as restraining as before. And in the real world, his eyelids leaden with fatigue fought to open. Distant voices penetrated his eardrums; however, it was difficult to make out what was being said.

Why couldn't he wake up? Before, it had been so simple to come back to the real world, but now it was an impossible feat.

Back in the dream world, he got to his feet once more, and he went in front of one portrait that was the closest to him. He reached out with a quivering hand and he went to lay it to rest on the canvas, only for his hand to sink through it instead.

He tried to wrench his hand free, but it was like something was holding his hand in place, making it impossible for him to remove it. Then he jerked forward and this time his whole body went through the portrait. With a stomach doing somersaults, he fell down the dark hole.

In the hospital bed, his body jolted, as if he had just landed on it, and his eyes fluttered open. As he lay there staring up at the austere ceiling, tears slipped down his cheeks.

Memories that had once been lost had found their way back home, and now he could remember everything.