The HospitalMature

“Syd? Syd, are you alright?” Who’s Syd? She thought. The soft voice traveled down her tunnel of unconsciousness. It bounced off the seemingly rocky walls and rebounded off the solid concrete floor to ultimately reach her ears. Her eyes flung open as the sound came at her in a loud, roaring wave.

Beep, Beep.

She was back, back safe in a white room. Where am I? She thought. She analyzed her surroundings. A beeping noise. It’s rhythmic. Hospital! She mentally patted herself on the back as she stared at the seamless white ceiling. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move her muscles. They paralyzed me? What is this, a Psych Ward!? She decided that the ceiling was becoming too boring, and so she closed her eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep.

A couple minutes later, she heard the screech of metal on metal as the hinges on the door whined at being opened.

“Doctor, what is it?”

“Just let me wake her up first,” She felt something in her hand wiggle and then felt drowsiness escape her grasp. All she wanted was to forget this hospital room and wake up back at home. Then again, she never got what she wanted. She opened her eyes and turned them to the direction of the voice. She realized she could move her head. Thank God! She said, turning her eyes and her head towards the voice.

“Hello,” she smiled at the doctor, “I have some news for you,” An old man stood beside the doctor and he was smiling at her. She didn’t know who he was, but he came to the other side of her bed and sat down, holding her hand. She tried to remove it from his grasp but she found that she was still paralyzed.  “You were in a car crash,” She took a sharp intake of breath and coughed. Her chest heaved as she spluttered some blood out of her mouth. Her eyes and mouth widened at the sight of the blood. “You were badly injured,” continued the doctor, holding a cloth to her mouth to contain the blood. “You broke three ribs and punctured a lung, but don’t worry, neither are fatal, that should be the last of the blood you will cough up,” The doctor paused, wiped her mouth and stood up. “Your third injury was to your brain. Do you know your name?” Sydney searched her brain, trying to remember anything she could. One name kept popping up and she croaked it out.

“Leonard Cohen,” she whispered hoarsely from dry lips. The doctor unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile while the man on the opposite side of her bed, holding her hand tried to hide a sob with a laugh.

“No, it’s Sydney,” So that’s who the guy was calling!

“I’m pretty sure . . . it’s Leonard,” she paused between every couple of words, her lungs were on fire. “That’s the only . . .  name ringing any . . . bells in my . . . mind,”

“Well, I can understand that. You badly injured your cerebrum. I’m surprised you remember how to speak.” The doctor rubbed his fingers along the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what amnesia is?”

“Yeah, it’s when . . . people forget . . . things,”

“Well, Sydney, you have amnesia,”

The beeping of the heart monitor pounded along with the blood filling Sydney’s ears. She didn’t have amnesia, she couldn’t! Wait, why can’t I? I don’t know! Her mind worked a hundred miles a minute in her head, trying to process everything that was happening. Then, one word pounded out through the mass of jumbled words.


Sydney saw the word, tried to grab it. She felt as though it was a life line. It zipped through the maze of thoughts, darting in and out of secret passageways. She tried to get it, tried to pin it down, but she couldn’t it.

She came out on the opposite side of the thought maze and saw the word, floating a little ways into the distance. She willed it to come towards her but instead, it zoomed off into the distance, leaving her alone in the abyss of her mind. The darkness came down upon her again, enveloping her in a tight cloud of black and gray, playing with her eyes. She tried to resist its teasing, tempting her with dreams and sleep. She couldn’t resist though, and eventually the darkness took her, leaving the thought of having amnesia as something for her to process when she woke up, when she could properly examine the situation . . . she hoped.

The End

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