Chapter 1: 1062

He woke up with a headache. Even before he opened his eyes he felt it like a knitting needle going right through his brain, from the forehead to the nape. With a groan he opened his eyes.

The ceiling was white. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the wall to his left was white. The wall to the right was white. The wall in front of him was white. He could only guess what color the wall behind him had. There was a window with a white curtain, dimming the light of the winter afternoon. Winter afternoon? Was it afternoon? He turned his head to see the small clock on his bedside table. But of course it wasn't there. Because of course this wasn't his bedroom at all. His bedroom wasn't all white.

Confused he looked around. The first thing that caught his attention was the weird plant on the white metal pedestal. It was the only thing that wasn't white. Huge green leaves shimmered like they were coated in wax, the petal (if it was a petal) was yellow and resembled the neck of a rooster. He couldn't rely on a massive knowledge about potted plants but this thing looked prehistoric, like it was straight out of some dinosaur movie.

The next thing that caught his eyes were the machines. They were huge and white and placed next to his bed. Only when he noticed the intravenous bottle holder next to it he could make sense of it: He was in a hospital.

A slight panic crept up his spine. Why was he in hospital? Had he had an accident? He couldn't remember. He looked down his body. No broken leg or arm peeked out from under the white blanket. He had an infusion, that at least explained the IV holder and there was something attached to his finger. But apart from that he didn't notice any serious damage to his body. If he was in hospital though, there must be something, he just needed to find it.

He tried sitting up, but found it difficult. First, there was the thing attached to his throat. It tugged on him when he repositioned himself in a disgusting way. Second, moving his body was not as easy as he was used to. It felt like he was stuck in a tub full of jelly, or like gravity had increased tenfold over night.

With a grunt he laid down again. His heart was beating fast and it was hard to breathe. What the hell was going on?

He closed his eyes to rest a second. The headache had worsened. He looked over to the pedestal. There was an emergency button. Maybe if he pressed it someone would come, this was a hospital, they could at least provide him with some painkillers for his headache. And maybe once they were here explain why he was here in the first place.

Lifting is arm to the button that was attached to a cable was a struggle, but he managed and when he had pressed the button (which was red, making the plant only one of two things not white in the room), a small red light lit up.

It took only seconds until he heard fast footsteps outside, then the white door was opened in a rush.

Three nurses in white uniforms stared at him from the door frame. Of course they were wearing white dresses and bonnets, he should have been expecting that much. But still he felt that he was developing a slight aversion to the hue.

"Go inform Doctor Aronova", the first nurse, a short elderly lady with olive skin and thick black curls in a low bun, said and the third nurse, a slender young woman with chestnut hair in the same hairstyle, nodded and ran off down the corridor.

He tried to sit up to protest. There was no need to call a doctor, all he needed was a pill to make this terrible headache go away.

"Please, remain laid", the first nurse said, approaching him. The second nurse, a woman that looked very Russian with her long, sharp nose and blonde bleached hair, followed her, taking the clipboard from where it hung from the metal footboard of his bed. The first nurse whipped a small flashlight from the front pocket of her dress.

"I'm nurse Aitmukhambetova, this is nurse Nabieva", she introduced themselves. "I need to check your reflexes. Do you know who you are?"

Otabek frowned. Of course he knew who he was.

He tried to say it, but his tongue felt like it was glued to his gum, so he just slowly nodded.

The nurse with the terribly long name held his one eye open with two fingers and checked it with the flashlight, then went over to the other one. "Everything normal."

Nurse Nabieva wrote something on the clipboard.

The Khazakh nurse checked his pulse and nodded, nurse Nabieva wrote.

"Are you in pain?"

Again Otabek nodded, but the Kazakh nurse had turned to switch off one of the white machines next to his bed so she didn't see it. It was a pain, but Otabek tried and after a long moment of fearing that he couldn't make his tongue work managed to get the word "headache" out. It sounded like hitting an old pot with a rake.

The Kazakh nurse nodded and nurse Nabieva put the clipboard back in place and left the room, most likely to go fetch some painkillers for him.

With a sigh the remaining nurse checked the infusion needle in his hand. "Do you know where you are?"

That wasn't too hard to guess. Otabek snorted (or did something similar, he couldn't be sure with the thing attached to his throat) and said: "Hospital." His voice was weak and raspy. He also felt that the pronunciation wasn't right. But his tongue still felt so heavy.

Again the nurse nodded. It seemed to be her favorite gesture. "Do you know what brought you here?"

"Ambulance", he joked, making the nurse roll her eyes.

"Well it seems your bad-humour-center wasn't damaged." She looked down on him reprehending, so he shrugged. She explained: "You got into a fight and those hooligans didn't go easy on you to say the least. You suffered serious internal injuries, among them a severe traumatic brain injury. It's a wonder you got away with your life. You were in a coma though."

Otabek stared at her.

"Don't look at me like it's my fault, why do you boys always get in fights anyway?" She raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "Some things never change I guess. Lay down and rest a little, Nurse Nabieva will be back with your painkiller soon enough and when the doctor comes we need to make a full check, so relax as long as you can. I'll go call your parents and tell them you're awake."

He watched her leave the room, then sank back in the pillow. He hadn't even noticed his whole body had tensed up. The back of his head hurt from the pressure.

The doctor, a friendly looking lady with a witty sparkle in her black eyes, made indeed a full check and explained all the injuries he had suffered in the fight. He had recovered from all of them already though. She asked him if he remembered his name, his birth date and where he lived while nurse Nabieva gave him the painkiller ("Deglutition coordination close to normal", she murmured when he had swallowed the pill and went over to write something down on the clipboard once more) and he could answer all the questions. When she asked him about the incident though he could only shake his head. He didn't remember a fight. He didn't even remember that he had been in Moscow lately or why. It was confusing and frightening and exhausting.

"It will come back eventually", Doctor Aronova prognosticated. "It's a wonder you remember so much already, after that time in a coma you normally turn into vegetable if you pardon the expression." She grinned sheepishly. "Rest now, you need to get used to all the trouble again. Your parents are on their way, get ready for some excitement." She winked at him and then all the women left him be again.

He didn't close his eyes with the intention of sleeping, but it happened nevertheless.

П

He woke from the sound of his mother's sobs. The headache had disappeared and he opened his eyes, turning his head at the same time.

The light had changed, it was golden now, almost orange. Must be evening.

"Moth'r", he said, his voice still very awkward sounding, the 'th' slurring.

She rose her face from her hands in which she had hidden her overflowing eyes and if possible they were overflowing even more when she saw that he was awake.

"Otabiy, Otabek, by boy, my lovely son", she howled and kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his hair. Her tears fell onto his face and she wiped them away with shaking hands. "Oh, how lucky I am! How lucky we all are, Allah is good, so good to us to bring us our boy back!" She laughed under her tears and it made Otabek smile as well.

"My son."

He looked up to see his father a step behind his mother, with tears in his eyes. He had never seen his father cry. Never. It was weird.

"Thank Allah the Almighty", he murmured, his voice as deep as ever, but a little shaky. His brows were furrowed when he came closer and took Otabek's hand, squeezing the fingertips lightly and avoiding the infusion needle. "A father should not bury his only son. Allah has proven his love for us." He let go of his fingers again, looking down on him with glittering eyes.

Otabek frowned. What was all that Allah talk about all of a sudden? "S'nce when're you r'ligious", he said with a light chuckle. The whole situation was kind of bizarre.

"The flow of time has changed a lot of things", his mother answered and combed her fingers through his hair. "And it has changed us for sure, you have to understand."

He didn't understand at all. His family had never been religious. Sure he was circumcised, they didn't eat pork (except in shashlik, because shashlik without pork didn't deserve the name) and they married before the face of Allah, but all that akbar talk was news to him. Even among the Kazakh muslims that had willingly stuck to soviet customs his family had always been one of the more liberal ones. What had happened while he had been in a coma. Or rather:

"How long?" His throat felt dry all of a sudden.

His parents looked at each other. Then his mother's expression became apologetic.

"Didn't they tell you?"

He searched his memory for some seconds, but couldn't remember if someone had mentioned it. So he shook his head.

His father stiffened, his mother smiled weirdly.

"Almost three years."

It was like a punch in the guts. "What?", he gasped.

"Oh my poor darling, my poor Otabiy", his mother cooed, crying again.

He looked to his father. The oldest Altin's face was wrinkled, his hair had grayed above the ears. He looked old, worn out. And helpless. "You heard your mother", he said with his brows narrowed, so similar to Otabek's expression but tired. "It is the 28th of September today. You will be twentythree next month."

Otabek felt like throwing up.

"Don't worry now, my lovely boy", his mother murmured. Tears were still falling from her eyes as she caressed his hair. "You need to rest and regain your strength. Don't worry, we have time. Everything will be alright."

His father nodded reassuring, but Otabek felt terrible.

Even after his parents had left to let him rest he stared at the ceiling in disbelief. Three years. Three years in which he had slept, laid there, unconscious, not noticing how the life around him went on, how time passed for everyone, but not for him. He was so confused, but at least it explained his disorientation and why he had a hard time moving as his muscles must have gotten weak over time. He'd have to get used to it, like the doctor had said.

But there was something else peeling itself out of the shadows that were his thoughts. It was fear. Fear that there was no place for him anymore. This world had progressed. Athousandsixtytwo days. Things had changed. But he hadn't. He was something that didn't belong to this world, to this time. He was something from the past. A relic. Something left behind brought here. What if there was no place for him here?

"St'p crying", he said to himself, wiping the tears from his eyes. Right, crying had never helped anyone. He'd stand up and fight, struggle and catch up. What were three years, only three years – not even three years! He'd start tomorrow, right tomorrow. He'd get up in the morning and work out his weak body. He'd catch up to what had happened in the world and he'd be back in business in no time. He wasn't known for giving up easily after all. He'd start right after breakfast tomorrow.

But first he'd need to rest a little, replenish his resources that had been drained out by his parent's visit. First a little sleep. Only a little.

О

He didn't have breakfast.

"It's a wonder you can talk", nurse Aitmukhambetova said, her eyebrows rising towards her hair line. "It's a wonder you didn't suffocate on the pill that this irresponsible Russian devil made you swallow yesterday." Seemed she didn't like nurse Nabieva. "We need to remove your tracheostoma, get you used to breathing by yourself. You were in a coma, boy, that's not a flu. Go light a candle that you didn't aspirate and catch a pneumonia. That is, once you are capable of going again." She shook her head. "And I will certainly not have you choke on a piece of bread, not when I'm in charge."

Later, when he'd look back and remember her, he'd realize that she had been a good person with a kind heart, but in this moment he could only hate her for what she said.

I loved reading all your shocked comments on the prologue, but of course I can not let my baby die! I'm not that much of a monster! X'D

So here we are in a very complicated medical topic that I have no idea about ^^' I researched a little (a lot actually -.-') on coma and effects and it all is very terrible, so I ignored most of the facts and made up a lot. It's actually super unlikely that Otabek could talk after such a long coma, my sister works as a speech therapist and what she told me was awful, also about the risks of aspiration and pneumonia and stuff, so I decided to work with some aspects of it but have him move and talk a little. It would have been too boring otherwise.

Thanks for bothering with me and please let me know how/if you like the story, what you liked, what you found not so good/terrible and how I can improve.

Also I plan on updating once a week, no particular day yet though as I can't tell how the story will progress at this point.