Chapter 2! I wish this chappy was longer, to be honest, but after the editing I had to do (as I wrote this whole chapter from scratch thanks to my terrible screw-up in the first chapter that was edited out) I just wanted to get this up. Apologies on the lack of action so far, it'll start in a couple chapters. Sorta. Rest assured, next chapter will see Alistair out of the friggin' hospital. xD
Oh, and I will try not to confuse people with contrasting styles, as my good buddy Stolloss pointed out last chapter that I wrote in two completely different styles. I'm always trying to improve, but I do believe that I should stick to my own identity. So this is a return to form in a way for me, which is good. Unless you hated my writing, but then, why would you be reading this if you hated my writing?
Finally, I would like to point out that I have started a collab with the vastly superior writer Happy2BMe, named The Market. It's a sci-fi-ish story with some great drama and action, and the most badass character I've ever had the fortune of writing. The penname for us is Mailbox Hunters, the story's name is The Market, and the review count is too low. Make me happy. Boost it.
Anyways, read, review, and go listen to some Shins! Nao!
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I opened my eyes for the first time after a pleasant nap, and a dream of which all I could remember was an Altaria and a pineapple. Stupid anesthetics.
I felt…odd. But not in a bad way. My body was raging, trying to figure out what this new brain was doing in its territory. Because of this, my whole body seemed to be in a constant state of confusion, not sure who to side with. And yeah, it felt like I had a couple dozen small knives in various places in my body, with a slight movement in any direction causing the sharp stabbing pain to which I wasn't exactly a foreigner.
But after having all my internal organs conspire against me and nearly succeed, it felt refreshing, in a slightly masochistic way.
Hey, I was alive.
"Alistair?"
Dr. Wren strutted into the room, a proud grin plastered on his face. You'd have thought he was my father. "How're you faring?"
"Great, far as I can tell. I'm pretty sure this isn't heaven," I answered, and Wren laughed heartily.
"No no, you're still on earth. The surgery was a total success… better so far than any other recipient of this surgery. Most patients take at least a month of hardcore medication, but you could be out in a couple weeks if we get lucky. Until then, though, you have your nice, comfy hospital bed to lie in. In a couple days, you'll start physical therapy as well. Any questions?"
"Not really…" I replied, not sure of what else to say. No, Dr. Wren, I think I'll just skip all the medicine and stuff.
I suddenly yawned, and felt my eyelids grow anvil heavy as Dr. Wren made some observations and jotted info down on a chart, pen flying all around the page.
"Just get some rest, Alistair…" he said quietly, and at that I drifted off.
I didn't even look at my body.
As Dr. Wren strode out of the room, feeling like one proud papa, the real papa was staring right into his mahogany eyes, the father's spouse right next to him.
"Is he okay?" the mother asked, her voice stretched-rubber-band tense.
"Oh, yes, everything went splendidly. He'll be here a few more weeks, obviously, for the medications, but unless he has an adverse reaction to the meds he should be successfully discharged in due time.
Both of their faces lit up immediately. "That's the best news we've heard in a long, long time," the father said, flashing Dr. Wren a toothy smile.
A foggy silence enveloped them, trying to squeeze some words out of someone's throat, and finally Dr. Wren spit out a sentence. "Well, Alistair's sleeping, so you're probably not going to want to disturb him…"
"Yes, of course. Have to give our boy some shut-eye, especially after the procedure. Thank you, doctor, for everything," mother said, wiping her eye clear of unwanted fluids.
They turned and went back to the waiting room, and Dr. Wren smiled. Everything was going well… maybe he'd even get a salary raise or promotion for this. But the thing that mattered most was the well-being of Alistair, honestly. He'd been through so much trouble, so much anguish the past few weeks and finally his condition was on the uptick.
Good things do happen to good people.
The next week flew by faster than a Pidgeot, mostly because I was either sound asleep or high on meds. However, the next week I spent more time up and about, trying to get a feel for everything now that my body wasn't trying nonstop to kill my brain.
Turns out being a Gallade is more different than I thought.
Oh, yes, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, my species is pretty cool too. But that's for a bit later. Right now, I was cursing the fact that I had completely flat feet and pretty awkward hands. But hey, I was alive, that was a perk.
As I strolled around for the first time (well, more like hobbled around, with a walking stick in my right hand and a nurse right beside me), I felt, more than ever, liberated. It wasn't just that I was let out from the prison cell that was my hospital room, which had incarcerated me for the past month, but I felt like for the first time, I truly appreciated life and every little nuance of it.
Although I didn't really appreciate the artificial smells floating around the hospital, wafting from seemingly every room. Those were just disgusting.
It was strange, though, how everybody seemed to recognize me, but at the same time act like I'm a completely different person. I was still Alistair, I was still a human, just in a not-so-human body. Hey, it wasn't like I was an Absol: some people freak out at the mere mention of them, thanks to those impertinent myths. I personally thought they were pretty cute.
No, not like that.
When we turned around to walk back, I told the nurse "Let me see if I can walk by myself." She let go of my hand, gently, and I took a step forward.
And collapsed like I'd been shot.
I wasn't ready quite yet.
After the nurse helped me back on my feet, I trudged back to my room with her hanging on to me like she was the one unable to walk. Finally, I collapsed onto the mattress, and unsurprisingly was out like a light as the nurse stuck an IV back into my green arm.
Life and death were next-door neighbors, but I'd just ding-dong ditched Death.
Finally, the parents could see their son. They'd waited excruciatingly long for this opportunity, as he was under the eyes of seemingly every employee of the hospital, but finally he was well enough that they could come and check on him.
As they arrived in the hospital, Dr. Wren greeted them, everyone wearing smiles.
"Everyone here is just so proud of your son, his recuperation is just near-miraculous."
"I think we're all in agreement on that. So, where is the man of the hour?" the father asked, looking like he was straining to hold back his giddiness.
"Oh, yes, follow me. He's on the second floor." Dr. Wren waved an arm and took his long strides over to the elevator, the parents in tow. They were raised a floor in silence, and the lack of conversation was slightly discomforting to Dr. Wren and his metabolism, which was infamously high. He sensed the anxiety in the air, though, and thus he kept quiet.
After a lengthy stroll to the end of the east wing they arrived at his room, and as Dr. Wren put his ear to the door he heard rustling from inside.
"Good, he's awake," he said quietly, as if the boy was asleep. He slowly opened the door, and held back the parents with just one finger.
"Alistair?" he asked, slipping in by his lonesome.
"Yes?" he asked, perking up. He was currently in the process of being stumped by a Rubik's cube.
"Your parents are gonna come in to see you," came the simple reply. It was less of an answer than a statement.
"Oh, all right!" Alistair's face lit up, and as he set the puzzle on the bedside table, the door creaked open, then shut as three bodies were now in the doorway.
Alistair's mother looked over at her son… and was speechless.
"Hey mom!" I said cheerfully, sitting up.
"A-alistair?" she replied, walking over. It took me a minute to recognize her reaction: basically the same as everyone else's. I reached over for a hug, and was diffidently granted one. My father gave me a firm handshake, meanwhile, and I was all smiles.
"So, how've you been?" I asked, in a sort of mocking tone.
"Well, instead of lying in a hospital bed for a week I've been in my own bed for a week. Came down with a flu bug, finally got over it two days ago," Dad replied. Ironically, he coughed right after that statement.
"That's good. That you got over it, not that you had it in the first place," I answered, grinning.
Dad responded "Well, you're obviously doing better than the last time we saw you."
"Yep! And Mom, how're you doing?"
"Oh… I'm fine." Mom obviously wasn't as chipper as my father.
"That's… fine!" I said. For some reason, I felt like the tension in the air was as humid as Orre's vast desert in the summer.
"Anyways, I'll let you get some rest, Alistair. See you in a while," she said, mustering a smile. I returned it, and my dad followed her out of the room.
Dr. Wren turned to me after they closed the door, and was still smiling (I hadn't seen him frown… ever, actually. And in a hospital too!). "I'd take a siesta until your next little therapy session if I were you, but it's your choice. Oh, and your dad brought your DS if you wanted to play at some point."
I beamed, for about the thousand-and-first time today, but then looked at my hands. How was I supposed to play a video game with these, much less use a touch screen?
"You'll find a way," he stated, noticing my bewilderment. With a wink, he slipped out himself, leaving me to my own devices. As I drifted off to sleep (under my own power, thank you very much), I saw a figure set something on my bedside table. Just like the past month, everything went blurry, and I finally slid into the shadows of slumber.
1. If I put too many line breaks in there... it won't happen again. So don't complain.
2. In case you don't know what ding-dong-ditching is, it's the classic trick of ringing the doorbell of a house and then running away. So obviously, when the person answers the door, nobody's there.
Thus the metaphor.
Yeah.
Oh, and while the chapter's name is simple enough (Alive), I'll just say that Alive is also my favorite Pearl Jam song. xD