The bed was cool, the room itself, cold. His body warmth wasn't enough to keep him comfortable with only a thing sheet over his still form. His head was squashed on to a hard pillow. The ceiling was a mosaic of discoloured panels. The window was half obscured by a curtain hanging by rings from a metal rod.
He was in hospital.
Looking across the room he saw that a young woman was asleep in a similar situation to himself, and there were two more, empty, beds.
A hospital ward. And a small local hospital if men and women were sharing a ward with two empty beds. That meant they didn't have enough staff to wander specialised wards...
How did he know or deduce that?
He could feel how intelligent he was, could feel the thoughts and the powerful orderly mind behind them, sorting, storing, compiling and synthesising endlessly... The mind of genius, if he said so himself. And he did.
But he couldn't remember who he was.
Drowsily, he watched as the young woman slowly got out of her bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with gentle thugs. He had a fleeting glimpse of her backside through her hospital gown as the crossed the floor, furtive and wary.
She risked a look at him and instinctively, without moving his head which would have alerted her to his wakefulness he simply closed his eyes gently. When he opened them again, she was gone.
A pretty young woman, with ginger hair. She reminded him of someone... Someone from his past. Someone who had deeper red hair, long legs, big eyes that stared at him, without knowing who he was... Then he remembered another young woman, her hair a closer match to that of the young woman in the hospital. This other woman from his memory had been special, intertwined with his own life in some strange way. And the she had gone. And then he had gone.
No, not gone. He hadn't gone, he'd... Changed. Changed again.
And here he was.
8/24/2016 4:26:21 AM
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