Disclaimer: I do not own .flow; lol (creator) does.
Also, this not a novelization of the game - although it might read like one for this first chapter. :/
Trace
.flow 01 - Proof of Existence
Don't forget to keep looking for symptoms. If she comes back, you know what to do.
Yes, sir.
The computer is the only link to my past—or so the doctors told me, just before they finally discharged me from the hospital. They say it's amnesia—something to do with blunt trauma. Hit my head, and out flew my memories—every single memory I had. All that was left remaining was, well, me: a sleepy girl whose bedhair could benefit from some earnest brushing, and not much else.
So, the computer.
It's the only unfamiliar object in this bare room that I can hardly even remember—but the memories are slowly coming back, filtered through a murky haze, as I investigate my room. Dusty bookcase, check. Television, check. Shinsoku Neko, yes, I remember that—maybe I'd try and beat that old high score again, for old times' sake? And of course, how could I ever forget the bed? I want to sink into its depths now, close my throbbing eyes, and sleep.
I didn't even consider the door—the doorway to the outside. For some reason I don't remember walking through it, although I must have; how else could I get in here from the hospital, after all? But there's something terribly foreboding about that door. I can't remember why, but something tells me—my unconscious, perhaps, the part that still holds some fragment of my memories before I hit my head—that if I step outside, I would surely die.
Was I always like this? Paralyzed by the mere thought of walking outside? Who was I, before I lost my memories?
Two sharp raps, strong knuckles striking hard against the heavy gray door leading outside. I pretend to play Shinsoku Neko when she comes in—the maid who wears that gas mask day in and day out, showing nothing and saying nothing. The doctors insisted on letting the maid take care of me for the next few days—otherwise, I'd have to stay at the hospital under their watch, in case of complications after ending treatment for the concussion. She doesn't look like a medical doctor or even a nurse to me—but she does bring in the food, at least. I watch her out of the corners of my eyes as she steps in, walks behind me, and leaves a pink and white cake on the desk right next to the computer keyboard before heading back out the way she came. Her mask makes it impossible to tell—but I swear I can feel those glowing red eyes boring into my back while I play the act of passive prisoner.
Because that's what this is, isn't it? I can walk out that door anytime I wish; the doctors didn't say I couldn't. I lean back on the chair while nervously nibbling at the cake. I left the hospital because, as kind as the doctors were, something about those clean whitewashed halls felt wrong. Maybe it's because, for all its shining whiteness, I knew that a hospital was a place of death. And now my own room feels like a prison, with my own fear as my gaoler.
That's when I finally turn to the computer—it's always hibernating, and hums quietly. Use this to help you remember, the doctors had said; it's not guaranteed, but you can try.
I wasn't always like this—Sabitsuki, the girl closeted in her apartment room. I just know it—the same way I know that hospitals are where people die, and that the maid under the mask isn't who she appears to be. According to the doctors the computer is my proof of existence—who I used to be, before a hammer crashed into my brain. And it's my job to find myself again.
I bring the computer to life with a single touch.
And so it begins.
AN: Hurro. I don't know why the bloody deuce I'm writing this. Heck, I don't even have a coherent plotline written out, besides the ending. :/ Anyways. I love reading the many theories out there for .flow—but as much as I'd love to rant and ramble about all the things I think is going on with .flow's story, I can't seem to get any condensed 'theory' to make sense. Not to mention I keep changing my mind about interpretations of certain events. So here's my take on .flow—and hopefully I didn't scar your mind with terribad writing. ;^;
And wow. This is the shortest chapter I've written for fanfiction since middle school. /is sad now
Thank you for reading. :)