Awakening

Everything is quiet a blurr, from being thrown from the tip of a blade and thrust on the bonnet of the speeding drunk driver. The dream lands I once assumed was my second life was all a lie, a flash of memories and imagination gone wild in a lasped moment of thoughts. The British accents of on lookers is the give away to the level of time meddling this is. Time marched onwards.

The smirk of an Archangel who believed he has removed the current book holder from power, a failed plan since he didn't use the blessing blade in the intended use. As karma would have it, in spite of being in hospital for several years and the likely outcome of wheel chair bound. He will have the smile wiped off his face the next time we met. I think my work bag with my ID was just flung away from me. It had paperwork from my lost job. Even the keys of my house clink on the floor. Everything is just that be to well placed for humans to come forward and save me from bleeding to death.

Watching myself from the distance is not weird me out as it might have. Although this veiw of sight is guessing shapes then clear vision. At the far corner of my panic narrowing sight is that form of cloth and darkness, white pearlescent surface the features face shapes.

The smirk of the General does certainly wipe off quickly when tendrils of invasive cold cloth began pluck feathers, slowly and with deep twists for extra pain. The important feathers... the ones that once could carry the weight of the families future. He acts too fast for darkness to be caught. If he steps away from his gate back home, he will be among the humans trying to save her. He chooses to cut loss and lose his feathers. Leaving the living world behind.

"Laura!" The world skips a bit, mostly blood loss makes the mind fuzz this way. The ambulance crew are all purely humans and someone had her ID. Was taking over a radio with details. She blinks at the flashlight shone to check her response reflex. On a stretcher already but in such critical condition that they were afraid of moving her. After of her spine.

"I am never going to walk again." She spat blood as she attempted saying that.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I got ran over? I left..." She blinks a few times, "I don't remember." They manage extra padding around her and have her air lifted. A helicopter parked on the junction its loud thundering and police shouting. Someone folks already out with cameras. Must be some sort of following cop show program, the camera man is armour like a cop. Police making photos and then collecting the evidence. Through her mask, the drunk driver from one car was screaming and rioting. Busted for more then drink driving. Quiet the struggle.

"What are you going to do now?" She heard asked from beside her mask. Rather there was no mistaking the disbelief the god of death had in being witness to a name bleeding itself through pages without a writer.

"I am not dead yet." She announced clear with speaking the same language, "But the tomes... You no longer have to bother with it. You can throw it away if you wished. We both know it was a lie." That much was true now, according to the new laws and the way time reflexes. A breath of new life, without order by a book, "Just keep saving those locked in the shells to long. We don't want a living corpse around." She was strapped to place into the helicopter, "I guess even lies have some power we can't just throw away." The mask steps into darkness, fading back to one shape. A mask the dug itself around her heart, protective of how fragile air pressure can cause.

She closed her eyes briefly once again. Opening with staring at the ceiling once opened and the breeze of being pushed to critical operation. She barely had it to answer things and puffy from the swelling. Coughed a few times for sure, not sure of when was what. Not quiet sure of how long. Pages fluster thick weighted and lifeless. Books pile around her shadows, accumulation of her years practice and work as a conservitor.

Chemical clawing that hide the nasty undertones of medicine back firing. She blinks awake again. Heart monitor beeping and a nurse jolting to press a button. To talk at her to keep her awake.

"Miss. Are you feeling any discomfort?" That reach to touch her hand and prevent breathing apparatus removal. The utter shock of the miracle that she survived. To wishy washy to think about the pain, swelling and aching. The brief times she had fluttered her eye lids could have been described like fleeting glimpse of on going nightmare. Being this more awake only proved that this was reality and it always stings. She can barely answer this nurse with the tubing down her throat. The wish to stand up or remove things herself. It is reflex and natural to waking from this.

It must be her surgeon that came in. Barely has everyone removed the surgery mats off from just getting out the theatre. She attempts to brushed hand to feel the stomach, caught from messing with bandaging.

"God bless this miracle." She has the life support eased off as she clearly is able to breath without assistance and is at least awake. The debate of being with it or not can be determined after.

"Do you remember your name and age?" This test. Same as always but she doesn't actually know. This is fine. She barely woke up from near death. She finds herself unable to speak anyway, something about the breathing support from before or the nature of her injuries. She finds herself unable to write well but it is pleased to for them to determine conversation. The fact she is attempting communication and writing is great signs. The care in hospital isn't perfect but being soon moved to a care home with on site staff. She was already moving in her head.

"I can't beleive it." A strange woman shivered at entering the room. It was apparent to sudden height difference between all these people. Laura has shrunk in either age or height. She didn't think anything of it with hospital doctor. She let's the woman hug her because despite struggling with any memories. It was possible that she soul swap places with a little girl. Something may not seem right but nothing ever is.

"I appreciate that your worried about me but..." Honesty is best policy, "I don't remember you. Everything is all... wrong." even her voice isn't her. She even was shocked after saying that making an odd expressions.

"That's OK..." The doctor jumps in with preventing this mother from exploding, "Accidents sometimes fogs brains. You have to give her time to remember and recover. Most cases they tend to remember and even if she doesn't, I beleive that doesn't exactly affect later life issues - as we know." They haven't studied connections between heading a ball in a sport game to early set dementia. The woman is incredibly clingy and strong. Was about to scream for sure. The burse at the rescue at forcing this lady to sit down and not squash.

"Do you remember what happened?" The doctor putting focus back.

"I dont. I think there might have car accident in some way. I don't actually remember how I was or why. I don't think I remember my name. I am Laura?" She grasp strong when soft and with the sheer cold eyes on this strange woman face, "Is there something wrong?" The woman is sent out the room for sure. The doctor gives a little clear throat to sit down at the bed side.

"Do you remember where you live?"

"No." She looks about for anything else strange about this room. Clearly a children's hospital with the wall paint like that, "How old am I?" She looks at her tiny hands or at least the size compare to an adult is noticed, "Do I go to school? Was I going to school? I must have been school. I had a bag with me." She frowns.

"Ok. I want you to count." She shurgs at this and began counting. She got to 50 and even the doctor is blinking. She is speaking different languages or something. Maybe her ability to count was further then expected, "You can count any further?"

"I could but do we really need to count all the way past 100." She tilts in trying to understand that strange expression, "I am speaking in a different language?"

"Its the accent. You sound like your from somewhere else."

"Sort of like half American mixed British. Maybe mistaken it for Canadian?" She asked and the doctor nods, "I don't know how. Maybe I watch to much TV or something." He nods at that being a sensible answer and yet there the strange brow raise, "I feel old. Not like body age. I feel like I am late to go to work or something." She reached for the bed remote and works it herself. She had the bed set her up only slightly. Not to up totally or she split the stomach stitches.

"I promise not to share what you have to say with anyone." The doctor swears. She can read the warning that might have been. She knows there is a still this off feeling. There was something very wrong in how that woman before was acting up. A mother should ask if her daughter is well, if she was OK. No. maybe to shocked. No. That's not it. The expressions was disgust and disappointed.

"I don't really beleive myself either. So telling you makes no difference. I feel like I went to college. I could have sworn I had a job at somepoint. Lived in the house payed off by long dead parents. Not a easy life but getting by well enough. Drama with people at work sometimes. I honestly thought I was crossing the road after losing my job and was expecting to never walk again."

"You are literally 8." He points out.

"Well I get that. I mean. Look at my hands, they are tiny and my voice is pitchy like a whiny kid." She crossed her arms and sighs, "I suspect that the lovely woman that just bear hugged me was meant to be my mom." The doctor snickers a little.

"Yes, your mum."

"So what is my name? It's clearly not Luara or Lea. I have some other last name that isn't Seer or something."

"Actually your last name is Seer. So not bad." He frowns though, "You really don't remember your name?" She shook, "You are Dahlia Lucy Seer. Age 8. You don't go to school. You flew out the car that collided with another. You have lost movement from the waist down. You have a spine injury that we are hoping heals at the same time as wound you got from being impaled." He froze a moment in realizing he used a lot words a child could struggle with.

"Awesome. I nearly lost my stomach and will likely have way to much money spent on having me walking with paralysed legs. You sure it's bit a slip disc in the lower verbra that causing nerve disconnection?" He blinks at lot.

"You must really watch a lot of older audiences shows." He makes a few notes on some paper. She tries to twitch anything down there, hoping a toe wiggle at least. But nope.

"Its all numb down there. I really did a number at crushing my spine or hip. If I am 8, my bones must be rubber enough to flex back from breaking. I would have shattered a lot more otherwise. I bet I have a big head injury. I do feel a lot of pressure up there like my sinuses are bad." He stops, "Please check them for me. There are irritated feeling."

"Sure..." He busts out the tools and has her do breathing exercises. Once it was over, he samples her nose. He hide it for some reason.

There was just something off about more then just his way his acting. He checks over shoulder a lot. Maybe there is more to this then just a car accident. Was even true all he said or did he just lie to her to be kind. They do that for young people to protect them while they are fragile.

"I give you my consent to have that tested. Please. I don't remember anything and I do have a bad feeling about it all. I know I am 8 but I am willing to fight my way for new guardianship if its as bad as it seems." She was direct at staring at this doctor, "Report anomalous if you must. As long it is the right thing to do." She pats his hand. He does actually think there is something wrong. It is obvious. Be it her or her family. Things not adding up, "Everything will just have to work out in the end." She shuffled back and was now cautious too.

"You are strong and brave." He sees that the police are indeed at the otherside of the door with that woman exclaiming off things, "You have a lot of injuries that have long since healed. You have symptoms of malnutrition which is slowing your recovery. That irritated feeling in the sinuses isn't a good thing to that list. You seem very sensible and mature beyond your years. Yet do you really actually understand?"

"So this is a domestic case. I can't be the only victim." She ponders, "This car accident might be a blessing in disguise. If it means saving lives in the loss of few." She stays still at watching the door, "Nothing seems right. Not just her body language. Would a mother ask if I was ok? She would not have looked so disappointed and maybe even disgusted by me." That was written down for sure, "Can I stay a while longer? I don't remember anything about them much and I going to have to learn to live with these life changing injuries. If I am really as bad as you say, I should ask for my own solicitor or attorney." She frowns, "Like a 8 year old could afford that."

"Its already being sorted. You must stress yourself." He makes a point. Her heart must be strained from the blood loss. She will have a lot of hidden underlined issue.

"Thank you doctor and thank the

surgeon too. The whole team of nurses and junior doctors. You saved me." She lays the bed flatter again with the remote, "What is on the news lately? We celebrating a jubilee or is there a war happening? Who died recently that was famous?" She asked and doctor does sigh. It was maybe annoying to change subjects but at least the topics are relatively nice. He makes notes of her odd behaviour at least like the nature of how she asked those. She assumes such things had happened.

"There these new types of phone out." They took it the LG cookie, one the few frist touch screen phones but needed a stylus to work. Finger touch isn't working yet. The software of the phone isn't exciting either or the graphics. She does however seem impressed.

"Neat. When I can afford a phone, it be a flat brick that you can touch with your fingers to work." She was allow to have it and she finds that all this talking made her throat sore, "Pleaese can I have a few sips of water." The doctor disagrees, "I guess it is a choke hazard. I guess you have me on the drip then." She looks at her arms, that's to many needle holes. Some big and scar, "I guess I might want a tattoo instead to hide those. I will never get a job." She blinks a few times, "Wait it's illegal for an 8 year old to have a tattoo. I guess I have to suffer school with being arkward with long sleeves." The doctor is blinking a lot. She reflects in silence the sort of attempt to think about her whole condition, "How I am not dead yet? Does my blood test show signs of over dose and what exactly was it?"

"Good questions." He takes the phone back for now, "What do you remember of anything?"

"I think I want the HTC touch when it comes out. I am not into sport but the fifa game in Africa is going to be interesting. I don't like the radio hits right now. Except Fireflies. That's a lovely song." She frowns, "has Hurricane Bill passed yet? Then again, this England... That really nasty snow storm disrupted everywhere. That would meant we are past February at least."

"Umm... I just going to write this down for now." The doctor all silent and sighs, "Its not even Christmas yet."

"Oh, the LG cookie was announced in September. You must have spent a lot to get that. Newest on the market. It should have been more then neat, I guess. Touch screens are the way of the future. You be tapping screens or using laptops or tablets for all that writing. Save some folks the poor handwriting. They will do a study about misdiagnosis from doctors having poor handwriting." She stops talking because the big words were tough to make. Even saying September was tricky.

"You must be tired. Recovery from this is going to take a lot. We will take things slowly. You will be saying here until we can make some better arrangements." She nods and the doctor makes last notes. He open the door put and rhw sounds of shouting and arguement was disturbing everyone. They are being escorted off the grounds with police presence. There is meant to be a closer eye on her room and there should be police to ask questions to her soon. But the social care system of the UK is terrible. She sort of expects it to fail her in some fashion. Be it returned to the abusive family or given to a carer that doesn't have the money to support. She could just tell something was going to go wrong somehow. Maybe his writting is poorly noted or that her treatment will get jumbled with the police evidence. She can do nothing about these factors, only prepare herself for them. Its meant to be Christmas, short staffing issues added with poor ice conditions. Record high flu season. She is going to be here a long while.

Her eyes flutter close again for now. Sleeping off the meds and whatever else.