Scars part VMature

Len tried to open his eyes, but he felt so numb. It was paining everywhere, like it used to feel when he played basketball for the first time, and over exhausted himself. He had a very strong feeling of déjà vu. It was as if he was seven years old again, and was sinking in the front pool in his father’s estate in France. There was a bright light on his eyes, but he wanted to open them.

Slowly, the pain became more centralised. His limbs hurt, and he was unable to move himself. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but his lips didn’t respond. His right eye was throbbing slightly. On moving his tongue a bit, he could feel something like thread inside his mouth. His gums felt salty and metallic, like they had been drenched in blood recently. He could faintly remember what had happened before. He had been feeling pathetic, and was wandering somewhere dark. He could remember something painful hit the back of his head, and the rough, cold tar road against his face. He flinched slightly because of the pain of his throbbing head, and was glad to realise that his facial muscles reacted.

He could hear someone’s voice in the background. He thought he could make out his name. He opened his eyes again. For a few moments, all he could see was bright light. Then he thought he saw something faintly brown on his left, and tried to turn his head. He couldn’t lift his left hand to touch the brown thing. Everything was just so hazy. His legs felt strangely numb. The brown thing was moving. The voices in the background were becoming clearer. The voice indeed was calling his name. He squinted to get the brown thing in focus. It looked like a girl.

‘Len?’ she was saying, ‘Len? Can you hear me? Can you see me, Len?’

He tried to nod, but his head felt so heavy. He tried to blink or even wink to tell her that he could hear her, but somehow everything was happening super—slow. He was finally able to move his lips. He could see her smile now.

‘Thank god.’ She was saying, ‘you have no idea how worried you had me!’

Her face was becoming clearer. She had short length hair, just a bit longer than her shoulder, and wore something white. Her eyes were brown, he thought. He faintly remembered her. He had known her very well, but who was she?

‘Hey, do you know me?’ she asked, understanding his confused expression, ‘I’m Elaine.’

He opened his mouth to say that yes, he did recognise her now, but instead of words, he could hear himself mumble something incoherently. He had so many questions to ask—how had she come here? What was he doing here? Why was his body aching? Why couldn’t he talk? But she understood. She gently brushed away his hair that was falling into his eyes.

‘Get up, Len’ she said softly, ‘you have a lot of explaining to do.”


The End

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