Stranger Ch1P1
Confusion clawed at me. I was supposed to be dead, wasn’t I? Then what the hell were these muffled voices chanting beside me? Friend or foe? So many questions spun in my head, making my brain feel like a washing machine on high spin. With a groan, I decided whoever it was wouldn’t kill me twice, right?
I cracked open my eyes, a sliver at first. Beside me, a woman, maybe in her mid-forties, dabbed at her tears with a light blue handkerchief. She was talking to... a doctor? No, that couldn’t be right. He wore a coat, but…
The woman, her eyes now dry and filled with frustration, slammed a book shut with a resounding smack. “Ow!” I yelped, scrambling upright against the headboard, both confused and terrified.
The woman’s voice echoed like a drill in my skull. “You foolish, dumb idiot, stupid girl - how does one almost fall into a coma after hitting their head under a microwave door?!”
She seemed furious, her words laced with venom, yet something else flicked in her eyes. But who was this terrifying stranger? And what on earth is a microwave?
My voice, rusty and disused, croaked out a question. “Um... who are you? M-ma’am?”
“Ma’am?!” the woman exploded, her huff escaping like a gust of wind. She averted her eyes, muttering, “Oh, heavens me.” Then, she snapped back at me, her gaze hardening.
Before I could react, the book slammed down on me, my reflexes kicking in with a flinch. Head buried in her hand, she mumbled, “Don’t tell me she’s lost everything permanently, doctor?..”
I stole a glance at the doctor as he approached the woman. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he soothed, “She’s been unconscious for nearly four weeks – any longer and a coma would have been a concern. While unusual for such a length of time with a minor injury, amnesia isn’t unheard of after head trauma.”
The doctor’s voice continued a low murmur against the unexpected arrival. Three figures emerged at the doorway.
One, a man seemingly the woman’s age, clutched an assortment of unidentifiable objects. Beside him stood another, younger by an estimated twenty years, radiating awkwardness. The last, a child of thirteen clad in peculiar attire with a white stick protruding from his mouth, completing the bizarre tableau.
Their initial shock upon seeing me morphed into a collective confirmation-seeking glance toward the woman and doctor.
Then, as if choreographed by some unseen hand, they began their unsettling approach. Arms outstretched, plastered with unnervingly wide smiles, they spoke in unison.
“Elle, my daughter!” the man boomed, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Chipmunk!” the younger one chimed in, his enthusiasm tinged with apprehension.
“Noona!” the child piped up, their voice muffled by the white stick.
My blood ran cold. “Seriously,” I forced out, my voice hoarse and shaky, “who are any of you?”
The man embraced me in a warm hug, uttering, “Oh, honey, we’re your family, Elle. That’s who we are.”
His words echoed in the sterile room, each syllable landing with the weight of a revelation.
I looked up at him, then at the two boys beside me.
My finger pointed tentatively at each of their chests, my voice gaining strength with each hesitant question. “If we’re family, then are you my father?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as he nodded with a warm joyful smile.
“And you,” I continued, my gaze landing on the younger boy, “my brother?.. And you,” I turned to the last one, “my other brother?”
A nervous smile stretched across my face as I slowly turned back to the woman with her arms crossed. Her gaze held mine, unwavering. “Yes, that’s right,” she stated her voice firm.
“I’m your mother. Took you long enough to realize, honestly.” Her voice softened slightly, but a hint of annoyance remained. “What kind of daughter calls their mother ‘ma’am’? I’m not that old. The best you could’ve said...”
She was cut off by.. my father, who placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Now, now, dear,” he soothed, “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it, right, Elle?”
I met his gaze, offering a small, hesitant nod, still grappling with the overwhelming and yet confusing revelation.
The warmth of the hug was a stark contrast to the chilling confusion swirling within me.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, like a foreign language my body struggled to decipher. A strange mix of emotions bloomed in my chest: confusion and a flicker of something almost akin to warmth.
I noticed a silent exchange between the parents, a fleeting glance that spoke volumes.
Then, one last time, they enveloped me in a warm embrace which is still stranger to me.
“We’ll give you some space to adjust, sweetheart,” Dad said, his voice gentle. He placed a cool, rectangular object in my hand, its surface smooth and reflective like glass. “If you need anything at all, you just call, okay?”
“However,” Mom chimed in as they all rose to leave, “the doctor suggests returning home soon. It might help your memories resurface faster. We’ll probably come pick you up in a few days.”
The room swallowed them whole as the door clicked shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unfamiliar object clutched in my hand. I sank back into the bed, my gaze drifting towards the ceiling. It seemed impossibly low, a stark contrast to the vastness I vaguely recalled.
I wasn’t just facing a loss of memories at least I’m sure I wasn’t; I was a foreigner in this world, a stranger in my own skin.
“Family,” I whispered, though that small embrace felt quite unfamiliarly nice it could have been just an act, I mean who’s to say my ‘actual’ family weren’t the ones behind this?
