Paramnesia

[par-am-nee-zhuh]

noun

1. Psychiatry. a distortion of memory in which fact and fantasy are confused.

2. the inability to recall the correct meaning of a word.

(In this case, please do take more note of 1.)

–

A girl, betrayed by her closest friends and tired of being kind, resigns herself to the last sound she will ever hear: the honking of a truck. But confusion sets in as she wakes up as a thirteen-years old girl in the unfamiliar territory of Namimori with a new name, Sawada Tsunayume.

–

It seemed like a dream...

Until the nightmare began.

–

"Call the ambulance. She's losing consciousness. Miss, miss! Can you hear me? C – ou – ea - "

Distressed voices hit me wave after wave. Literally, because I feel myself coming back to conscious after a moment yet going out the next like a kid is playing with the light bulb named 'conscious', turning it on and off. Every time the bulb turns on, a wave of voices, barely distinguishable, hit me.

I think I can almost hear the hypnotic 'tik-tap' of the switch.

Everything in my vision turned into a blur of colour, patches of red, white and green flashing and floating. Black spots dotted my vision, until everything turned into a shade of grainy black and white like a television in the early 1950s.

What was I doing again?

Ah, I was...walking home. Crossing the street to be exact. The green man was on, so technically, I didn't break the law. (What? So what if every fucking person I know doesn't obey the traffic law? It's a habit.)

So...what happened?

Right. A truck was speeding and then...

"She pushed me away! Mama," a tearful voice cried. "That girl lying there pushed me away..." Strangely, it sounded clear to me. The other voices seem to fade into a buzz in the background, as the voice of the little boy rang out to me.

Hey, I wanted to open my eyes fully, but my eyelids were heavy. A blotch of grainy shades of black and white hovered over me. Don't cry. I wanted to say.

"Shh. W-What are you saying, Ted? The girl didn't push you away, okay? Forget about it. L-Let's go home. Quick...this would be troublesome – e - caught up - "The voices were fading away again, this time in whole. My heart fell as I processed the words.

The girl didn't push you away.

Forget about it.

I felt a tear slid down my cheek, the numbness on the right side of my body, and the wet and sticky liquid pooling under my body. I felt weightless, drained of energy. Sirens blared but soon faded off as every sound turned into light buzzing.

(The sudden rush of adrenaline when I saw the truck speeding, clearly not able to stop in time for the green man flashing. The young boy in a yellow shirt, his eyes fixed on the screen of a tablet.

Walk faster, I wanted to say, go, go, go, because I can't reach you in time.

My feet started moving, and everything seems to stretch on. The surprised gasps of the pedestrians as they realise that the truck will slam right into the little boy and crush his bones, splashing red all over the road, a broken tablet lying so innocently just a few meters away from its owner, despite being one of the factors to have caused it.

The feel of soft fabric and blood rushing in my ears brought me back to reality, as I gave a harsh shove, startling the young boy and effectively pushing him out of range of the truck.

A long horn from the truck that sounded thunderous. A thought passed my mind.

One of the last sounds I will be hearing in this world, and yet it's so ugly. Someone should definitely design better sounding horns.)

Forget about it.

Let's go home.

Everything went black.

–

I am in a deep hole, and the light seem to miraculously shone in from the opening. My natural instincts sent me pounding and scratching and trying to crawl up the rough stone walls, to reach for the light even though I have no idea how I ended up in this place and how.

A rope. There is a rope. A relieved laugh escaped me, sounding so light that if someone heard it, they would have thought that I just discovered how to make a sound after being mute for years instead of discovering a rope. A rush of fire took over my veins, as I felt the immense need to find a way out and live.

I grabbed it, and suddenly images were dug out from my mind forcefully. I screamed from the sudden attack on my mind as tears were forced to my eyes.

My name is... Sherré Langlois. I am turning sixteen in another six months.

...and I am tired. Tired of all the – all the stupid things in life that are out to get you down. Life isn't fair. There's no balancing of good or bad things that happen in life. It's not equal. Some may be born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and have mostly good things happen to them. Their troubles are solved by others. Some might brave through their challenge with their courage and optimism. Some don't, some stay stagnant. Some reach a dead end and stop. Some gives up when they realise that their lives are just a bunch of miserable strings knotted together – and some... some just get tired.

Tired of searching for their Purpose, the purpose of life, the purpose of living, the purpose of existing, the purpose of impacting, the purpose of...the purpose of just...

being there.

If there's a clock for every life, when does mine stop?

I gasped, panting as unwanted memories ran through my mind.

We were friends. Family, even.

It felt like a dream.

They were always there.

A really good dream.

And vice versa.

Then...

They went against me. Betrayed me. Stabbed me in the back when I least expected it. When I still trusted them so wholeheartedly – feeling guilty of every bad thing I thought of them, feeling unworthy of them, feeling out-of-place because I don't seem to be good enough for them – and there they were, doing that to me.

Like how my family did.

The nightmare started.

When they had promised to never be like them.

When do words – much less, promises even matter...?

Like flowers wilting, pollens dispensing – their words were as pretty and picturesque as the image, but meant as much as nothing in this world. Priceless words, really. No price for their words, because it literally weighs nothing.

When the onslaught of memory ended, I looked back at the hand grabbing the rope. It was charred black, as if burned by the memories. But I felt nothing, not the burn, not the pain, only bitterness towards everything and everyone who took me for granted.

Or was I just meant to be nothing in the end?

Forget about it.

And even after so many lessons learnt, I still went and did something that potentially caused my life, yet resulted in nothing but ungratefulness and disregard from the ones whom I sacrificed for.

The boy will probably forget me in a few years. Or months, even. I smirked bitterly. I hope the mother will remember me, always. Forever...burn my image into her mind. The one who saved her son, whom she disregarded with a flick of a few words.

Why did I even rush in front of that truck? I have a great future ahead of me as a potential psychologist, author, designer and many more choices. Why did I throw away everything for nothing?

Right...

because I probably had nothing from the start.

I probably, was worthless from the start. No Purpose. No route. Dead end. Weak will.

The rope got tugged upwards, towards the light that looks a little too blinding now. My curled fingers loosen from its death grip on the rope. At the second tug, I hesitated.

At the third tug, I let go.

As the rope ascended, a familiar voice sounded in my ears.

"Why would you want to let those shits get into your life? You are you. Je suis qui je suis – that's what you always said."

Calliope.

I stiffened, watching the rope slowly go out of reach.

No, I wanted to say – but there were always so many things I want – wantedto say yet never say.

"No!"

I jumped, and my fingers brushed the frays at the end of the rope.

But it was all gone in the next second.

–

I jolted awake, feeling cold sweat run down my arms and face. Shivers wrecked my body as I convulsed, feeling as if I had just went through the same roller coaster ride for ten times without break. A nauseating feeling surfaced in me, yet something in me told me that there's nothing to heave out.

I feel different.

My body was sore, almost like I had ran a fifty kilometres marathon without stopping. But it was a stupid thought. I would never run a marathon, and I could barely handle three kilometres. A bitter laugh threatened to escape until I realised my throat and lips were parched.

They deserted me that time as well, and I realised too late that they had long deserted me before that.

"Here, drink." My ears perked up slightly at the tongue spoken as cool glass was pressed to my lips. I drank the whole glass greedily, taking in the relief as the water slid down my throat. The nauseating feeling slowly settled, and my eyes focused in on the woman in white in front of me.

Japanese. She spoke Japanese. But why? This is -

"Do you want to sit up?" She asked kindly. "I understand that your body will be quite sore after being inactive for such a long time."

I nodded with difficulty, and she helped me to sit up against the bed.

Why do I feel different? In what way? Why is she speaking Japanese?

Where am I?

Questions rushed through my mind at the speed of light, but I quickly pushed most of it away in favour of giving a questioning look to the woman.

I do understand Japanese. It's the language I picked for my Third Language Elective Programme after all.

She smiled at me sympathetically. "The doctor will be here soon."

Was I sent to a Japanese-run hospital after getting hit by a truck?

The door slid open just at this time, and a man with greying hair and a white lab coat walked in, a stethoscope hanging from his neck. I directed the questioning look towards him, careful not to move my neck too much as it hurts.

"Hello, Miss." I blinked once, and sent him an impatient look. He received a pen and writing pad from the nurse. I opened my mouth, and managed to make a sound. Well, that didn't sound like me, but I'll take what I can get.

"Where am I?" I demanded, in Japanese. The doctor nodded in a placating way.

"It's okay, do not panic. You are in a hospital. The Namimori Central Hospital. You got into a car accident, remember?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. Car accident? More like truck accident.

"Namimori?" I asked suspiciously. "What kind of hospital is that?" The closest hospital to the street that I was on – it was near school so it should be...the Hansgher General Hospital – not – not -

I stiffened, realising what was so wrong and different.

I didn't have brown hair. I certainly didn't have long hair. I looked at the – my pale bony fingers. Looking up, the mirror facing the bed in the bathroom straight ahead reflected an unfamiliar girl with caramel brown eyes and the same shade of brown hair.

I blinked. She blinked.

The placard hanging at the edge of the bed caught my eye.

Sawada Tsunayume.

"Miss?" The doctor tapped his foot impatiently. I turned my wide eyes to him.

"I - " I started shivering. Was the air-conditioner too cold? Did I not have enough blankets? My insides turned to ice, and tears started sliding down my cheeks. I hugged myself, bringing my knees to my chest, shaking my head profusely. A chill enveloped my body like a cocoon.

"Miss? Miss?!" The nurse's voice rang out, and I continually shook my head pushing them away with an arm.

"Where is this? Where is this place?!" I kicked the blankets off, grabbing my head in a vain effort to – to wake up, to be Sherré again. What is this place? Where am I?!

I threw the pillow at the nurse who tried to grab me, backing up to the wall and making the IV drip stand shake dangerously. A hand managed to grab me and I screamed, more tears squeezed out from my – my foreign eyes.

A prick – and black started to take me over.

"W – Who am I...?" I managed, feeling the last tear slid down my cheek before everything turned black.

Who is Sawada Tsunayume?

Who...is Sherré Langlois?

–

A/N: So. This is a new story I came up with and I know I shouldn't have cause there's still Change and it's my year of national exams.

But this story and idea is particularly important to me, and I promise that it'll just be a 10th generation/Tsuna FRIENDSHIP. If there's any romance, no, it would not be with any of the family members/part of Vongola.

Yes, this story is important. But I have to warn that there'll be slow updates because for this story I prefer to write it on the computer rather than on my phone like Change. Uh, yes, slower than Change is already now.

So, please tell me how you feel about this? I am feeling a little apprehensive about this, but please please please leave a review or at least a follow/fav so I know.

This story's going to focus quite a lot on the 'past life' as to say, and also Tsuna/Sherré (pronounced as Sher-rhee)'s life mixed with craziness from canon.

Who said I am going to follow the canon? :D

Let's just see on the way.

I have to say, the inspiration for this story came from a very ugly source though. Haha.

Dolce x.

EDITED: 171115

I am so glad to be back with this story! I will be binge editing the updated chapters so I can start with the new ones soon! Please continue to stick with this lil thing, haha!