Inner Monologue (Unfinished)

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 731
3/12/2023

The following is a piece written in late 2017. I have no recollection of writing it, and no notes indicating where this unfinished piece was meant to go, but I find it fascinating nonetheless… I may need to devote some time this year to writing a suitable ending…

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I open my eyes. That’s the first thing I remember. Questions of who and what and where I am take turns filling my mind… but the answers don’t come. What was I before? Before the moment I opened my eyes? I must have been something, been someone. I must have existed before this… I must have… because I understand! I understand enough to know what these questions mean… enough to know I was not just asleep… to know the tube above my head, persuading me to close my eyes once more, is called a light. That the distant sounds of intercom dings and athletic footwear, the paper gown I now inhabit, and the distinctive smell all mean I am in a hospital. I know what a hospital is. I know these words and many more–English ones at least. I know the difference between languages. I understand all this. I understand enough to know what it means to exist, so how could I not have experienced it before? I must have existed before this…right?

The Doctor names me John Doe 3894 without bothering to tell me his own. He explains that I was picked up off a street corner, no ID, no name. Nothing to call my own but a splitting headache and a few broken ribs. I briefly wonder how long must I have been here? My ribs don’t feel broken–anymore, I suppose. Further, he continues despite a look of confusion that no doubt wore my face. Many people arrive this way, with alarming frequency, so he says. And most people regain their memory in relatively short order… most. With an air of routine in his mannerisms, he writes the address of a place that can help people with my condition. The way he says it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I get the feeling I can’t trust him, though Heaven knows why exactly. Then he turns to go and says to come back if I have any further symptoms, his tone implying eventuality so much as possibility.

What isn’t he telling me?

Not so much as one step outside and I see him. Not that I have any idea who he is, but he clearly knows me. His half-eaten bagel and empty paper cup testify to his patience–it’s likely been hours since he began his wait. This isn’t his first steak out. But what about me interests him? Is he a friend? Family? It occurs to me—fmy memory having yet to return from holiday–I can’t picture my own face, so dissecting familiar features remains firmly in the realm of impossibility. If we do have an amicable relationship, why not meet me inside? Which leaves enmity.

Did I steal money from him? Could that be why I was found in the alley? Maybe he’s back to finish the job he started… Without my memory, I could only speculate. So I nonchalantly tramp the sidewalk, toward where I think the amnesia clinic lies.

I act as though I don’t see him, but his rapid pursuit tells of a failed effort. My feigned ignorance has clearly not worked–or it’s been discounted entirely. My mind races for an appropriate response. Whatever of his I possess, he has an urgent need to retrieve it–and given my current state–it is now as lost to me as it is to him. Paying for this unknown item via alternative means seems imminent… and painful, so wishing to avoid another visit to the ward, my mind settles on a single action. My body raises no grievances.

I run!

***

Having no frame of reference, I cannot say with any certainty that I have never run faster, but the theory remains unchallenged. In truth, my speed is nothing short of miraculous. I bustle past buildings in mere moments, bypass blocks in single strides. Have I always been this way? Before my attack and subsequent odyssey to the infirmary, was I capable of making Hermes blush? Is this the extent of my inhuman abilities or have I been endowed with gifts yet to be realized? Could this be what the doctor meant by further symptoms? More questions without the possibility of a response. I instead focus on the task at hand. Dodging pedestrians and ducking around vendors, I easily lose the strange man, but in doing so, I find myself in unfamiliar surroundings–well, more unfamiliar ones. From problem to problem…..