I always thought everything I read in books was fake. I would pride myself in my knowledge of truth and fiction. That is, until the accident.
Black. That was the first thing I knew. Then pain. Crippling, agonizing pain. Then I remembered. I was standing in the middle of a gravel road. The wind whipped my hair in front of my eyes, blurring my vision, so I couldn't see the danger until it was right on top of me. Literally. The motorcycle had veered, causing rocks to fly at me, I had no time to run.
I'm dead... I thought as beeps and chimes entered the blackness. My eyes fluttered open. …or not. Where am I? I looked around. A hospital. I felt… different. I was breathing, but it was different. I must be terminally ill. If the motorcycle didn't kill me, I will die soon. Too soon. I thought of my sister, so small and fragile, who would never know me.
"Mom." I croaked, my voice was not how I had thought it would be. It was softer, not rougher. It sounded more like a kitten than a frog. No matter how different it was, there was one thing I knew. It wasn't mine.
"Mom, what's wrong with me?" I tried to sit up, but found that I was connected to wires. "Mom?" I was starting to get scared.
"Your mom isn't here. She's out with the baby." I turned to see a doctor. I was caught off guard. I was expecting an old man, not this, this, movie star. His golden eyes looked into mine. "How are you feeling?" I thought about that. Other than the strangeness and un-homely feeling I had in my own body, I felt surprisingly healthy. I felt better than I had ever felt before, which is strange, seeing as I was just almost killed by an idiot on a motorcycle. I felt strong, like I could run a marathon without stopping for a breath. My senses seemed sharper, like they had been washed in a crystal pool. I heard the cars outside as if they were here, even though I was on the top floor, in the very center of the building.
"Great, better than ever." He nodded. I started twiddling my thumbs, nervous. I looked at my hands. What the- they were manicured, and tiny. "How long was I out, doc?" His eyes glinted.
"Well, you recovered right on time. We weren't expecting you to come to any sooner." He avoided my question with skill.
"Yes, but how long was that?" I was annoyed.
"Only, about, a month." I was shocked. A whole month? Oh great. Make-up Homework, here I come. He seemed to sense my tension. "but that is great, in fact, you healed much more than others with this, er, condition." I could tell he was holding something back.
"And since when is getting hit by a motorcycle a condition?" I sneered sarcastically, I just wanted my mom. Here I was, in a hospital, attached to wires. I wanted my mom, but I got this really handsome doctor that won't even tell me anything. I deserve to know what is going on with my own body.