POV: ? / LOCATION: ?
Once again, I wake to red skies. My skull has stopped vibrating, so I can comfortably sit up without feeling like my head will crush my neck.
The windows are open, permitting a dusty breeze into this sterile room. Glancing outside, I glimpse the skyline of a city nestled within powerful, ancient mountains. The land is sparsely punctured by craters containing meteorites of assorted sizes.
A chair has been pulled up by the bed. Armed with a periwinkle cup of coffee, the spaceman sits down and joins my gaze to the bustling streets below.
"Are you hungry?" he says.
I almost didn't hear him at first. "You're going to eat my brains!"
"Spare me your wild fantasies. Besides, that'll be a light snack."
My opinion of this asshole grows more colorful by the second.
"Fried chicken is not ideal for a convalescent," he says. "You'll have to make do with this."
Is he… peeling fruit? He is. From the blade of a slender knife draws a ribbon of red foreskin that continuously slips off a round, peach-colored apple. Sliced into segments, those fragile crescents are presented to me in an unremarkable bow.
To my unspoken question, he pops an apple slice into his mouth. Flashes me a smirk that makes my knuckles itch.
"Why are you so nice all of a sudden?" I huff.
"I need you to regain your strength to ensure your full compliance."
"You don't sugarcoat things, do you?"
"I don't have time for that. Now eat."
The apple slices are crunchy. Bursting with juice. Tartness and sweetness alternating in a sexy tango on my tongue. And another taste, lurking beneath the surface flavors. Something familiar… Ack! It better not be his skin cells!
I'm about to expose him when I notice that his hands are wrapped up to the fingertips in bandages.
"What happened to you?" I say, careful not to sound too concerned for his well-being.
Instead of replying, the spaceman leans back, tents his fingers, and focuses his eyebrow-less gaze into my own. Studying. Searching for something not visible on my face.
"What's your name?" he asks.
The answer bounces to the tip of my tongue. "Cynthia."
"Where is your hometown?"
Scattered images meander haphazardly through my brain. Fog. Mountains. A mural. Cows? "I'm not sure."
"What is this?"
"This" refers to a round, red-and-white capsule.
"A Poke ball," I say.
"Good. What's inside?"
"A Pokemon. Duh."
The spaceman presses the button. Out pops a hammerhead dragon with wings that resemble jet engines.
"Garchomp!" I exclaim.
My beloved Pokemon jumps into my open arms. I stroke its rough, scaly hide so furiously that blisters form on my palms.
"You remember Pokemon, at the very least."
At the sound of the spaceman's voice, Garchomp lunges. Before its smoking jaws can clamp around his head, a Crobat materializes and parries the attack with venom-dipped wings.
"Garchomp, wait!" I yelp. Fortunately, my dragon ceases its assault. But it looks at me like I'm eating grass off the ground. Disbelieving.
Meanwhile, the spaceman has been observing me. He then reaches for my direction. I find myself suddenly breathless as his hand hovers above my cheek… fingers a hair's width away from touching… until he abruptly steps back.
"You didn't slap me aside," he mumbles.
Oh. He's right. I should've kicked his groin before he infected me with his germs. But I didn't… because I felt no need to.
"Let's start over," I say. "Who are you? Why do you have my Garchomp?"
The spaceman slowly sinks down to the chair. "Amnesia? Why? This situation must be more dubious than first presented…"
"Um, hello? Earth to mission control."
His head snaps up as if he just realized that I'm here. For a heartbeat in time, a raging emotion spills out of the cracks of his face. Then I blink, and it's gone, whatever that anomaly was consumed by a smirk too content for my liking.
"My apologies, Miss Cynthia. I seem to have mistaken you for another individual. I apologize for my indecent behavior."
What's with this drastic shift in demeanor? One second he's interrogating me, the next he's peeling apples for me, and now he's apologizing for being an ass? This is all too much for an amateur amnesiac.
"You said something about a forest—" I begin.
"Did I?"
"Yes. You were obsessed with—"
"Ma'am, you have suffered a traumatic head injury. Please do not inconvenience yourself with trivial matters."
The spaceman returns with more pillows and blankets. And a Clefairy doll. Soon I'm too warm and cozy to remember why I'm suspicious of him in the first place. Something about him having my Pokemon…
"Your Garchomp was very worried," he says.
Garchomp spits at him.
"That's just rude," I chide. To the spaceman, I say, "Where are the rest of my Pokemon?"
"The rest?" he says innocently.
I tell him about my Pokemon team. He listens intently, nodding occasionally, but ultimately shakes his head.
"When I found you collapsed outside my doorstep, your Garchomp was the only one there. I'm sorry I can't be more of help."
Frustrated, I slump against the giant Clefairy doll. First my memory is gone, and now my Pokemon are missing. If only there was someone I knew that could shine some light on this foggy conundrum… If only my Garchomp can talk…
"Where are you going?" I shout when he begins to stand.
"Rest."
"I just slept! You expect me to lie around all day?"
"Would you like to hear a story then?" he says, chuckling.
"A story," I echo in disbelief.
"Or not. Pleasant dreams, Miss Cynthia. And Garchomp."
Before the spaceman leaves, he swipes the fallen apple slice off the floor. He doesn't throw it in the trash can next to the door. In fact, I think I hear… crunching from the other side of the wall.
