A Wolf Without Her Memory

A WOLF WITHOUT HER MEMORY

BY JINXWRLD

CHAPTER ONE

PRESENT DAY

I was tired of what I was feeling, to be walking around in my mind that was empty. I couldn’t remember anything that had happened and it felt sickening. I thought I was going to die, because I couldn’t remember a thing. Nothing at all, not even what happened to me, or where I was from, or who I was, or what my name was.

All I knew was that I couldn’t wake up. I wasn’t asleep yet opening my eyelids felt like carrying a 4000 pound car with the help of a stick. Yup. Virtually impossible.

The only thing I knew was I was in some kind of hospital. I guess from the smell and the way they refer to this place. I racked my brains to remember what I was doing in a hospital or why I was there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember a damn thing, the only thing I knew is that I was wallowing in this darkness, and the doctors knew me as Jane Doe, the sleeping girl who never wakes. It was thanks to them that I even knew I was a girl. Whatever that is, I cant imagine myself as one, I don’t know what, but I felt like all my life I have been living as a particular thing.

In the beginning, I couldn’t keep up with the gossip I heard in my room; they kept using each other’s name and I only knew them based on their scent and footsteps. I thought I couldn’t learn their names as well as I wanted to believe that I would soon wake up. And I would ask for questions and they would give me the answers. I believed that they were waiting for me to wake up, so that I could learn all about myself and what happened to me, so I wanted to familiarize myself with their voices.

It was hard, because I couldn’t understand fully what they were saying. It was as if they were speaking in a alien tongue but little by little, I was able to understand each word, and from the tone of their voice and how they said it, know it if it was a good thing or a bad thing. It honestly kept me company till this point.

I’d wait until someone comes into my room and then I would listen to their conversation. Sometimes it would be about me, and how I would zone out. I had a name, they called me, the girl who never wakes up, so it was easier to tune out of the conversation, I didn’t want to hear the sad, sob story of myself yet.

When the conversation shifted to a new doctor or patient, then I would focus. I would hear whatever name they said and I would remember their voice, footsteps and thier smell. I must have a really senistive nose.

It took me a couple of weeks to get all their names. Maybe if I weake up, I could scare the shit out of them, by telling them everything I knew about them.

If I wake up!

I still remember some bits and pieces of my memory. Actually all I could remeber was a big bright light and a bang that sent me flying and scraping the ground. And the next thing I knew, I was placed on a very soft mattress pressed against my bad.

I smiled in my sleep, because I have never experienced something so soft like this. But then I remembered I needed to be somewhere else, I had to go somewhere but I couldn’t remeber where. All I needed to do was to sit up, open my eyes and I would remember, and I did this all day, and it took me until the rays of the sun had vanished from my room to know that I couldn’t wake up.

When I heard several people entering my room and talking to a doctor, I knew I had to wake up. I didn’t want the doctors to touch me, I didn’t want to know, how they whispered and said midst their breath that the wounds, were healing up so fast as if I had a quick metabolism that healed my wounds.

And because of that, they probed me further, I could feel them drawing my blood, as it stung, but after a while the pain ceased, and I would feel okay. The feel of their hands on my body made me angry, furious even. I’m not used to being out of control about who can or who can’t touch my body. If they found out anything, I didn’t know because they were always frustrated with the results they got whenever they got back to my room.

One day, the nurses stood outside my room and kept talking about Astoria. I thought it was a funny name or the name associated with a work related conversation because of how depressing their voices sounded. Besides if they were gossiping about someone named Astoria, they would have used my room and shut the door for more privacy, believing that nobody could hear them but I did…I actually count, did I?

The only reason that I focused on their conversation was how boring that day had felt, there were no visits to my room, and no smell of a new person, nothing at all. It suddenly dawned that they were talking about me.

I was Astoria. But how did they know that, and still called me Jane Doe. I heard them saying, it was when they turned me over, they saw the name, tattooed across my back, with a wolf under a moon next to it.