Sunspot

[Proselyte]

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Fractured.

Bits of me are floating aimlessly here, in this fragmented space that used to be a flurry of logic and hope and emotion and bad jokes.

All separate from the whole.

There are bursts of sound and light, but they don't mean anything to me.

In this moment all I am is fear, confusion, and the lone spike of a lived experience cycling again and again.

The same relentless buzzing. It screeches with agony over what few things pass for my senses in this state.

I flee from it, and I fail.

I fight it, and I fail.

I try to hold on to consciousness amid the endless screaming pain, and I fail.

And then I am here. Barely myself. Barely anything. But it doesn't feel like death, or the other fates I came to know.

It still doesn't mean anything to me, in the moment. Nothing really could.









I am static as what feels like eons pass over me.









Only the sounds and flickering colors broke up the monotony of this existence. They came in spurts, followed by long stretches of dark silence.

There were other sensations too, more intuitive. A soft chime here, a gust of wind there. It felt different, welcoming, but in no way I cared to appreciate.









Time lurched onward.








It didn't last forever.

The bursts of sensory information grew more persistent - my surroundings, forming from loose concepts into vague shapes and understanding. The buzzing began to fade, slowly at first and then losing much its intensity, as the scattered motes of what made up my being seemed to pull together.

I think she's coming to.

Memories took shape, beyond the overriding torture of that moment I lived endlessly. Some clearer than others, but it was quite the shakeup for this null space. With memory came meaning, purpose and value. In life, in existing.

Ma'am? Can you hear me?

It made sense to care, again. And holy hell, did I care about being alive.

Unnnh... hnhuh?

That's reassuring, right?

Well. I did my best to show it, but my body seems like it had some catching up to do. My mouth struggled to form words, my limbs refused to move more than a touch.

Checking pupil dilation...

A warm, calloused hand held my eyelid wide open, bathing it in irritating sterile light. I groaned as it left its afterimage.

Responsive. Listen, ma'am, I'll hold up a finger. Follow it with your eyes, please.

You want me to do that right after you burn a big dark splotch on my retina?

The frustration doesn't end up writ on my face quite like I'd want, and instead I squint weakly like a sniffy rodent.

The vague shape of the person - I assume a medtech - waves a blurry finger across my vision. I cooperate and aim the new reticle they scorched into my vision at the digit as it travels, left and right.

Good response. Give her a second.

I tried to place their voices. Nothing I knew. Bretonian, I think?

The wheels are churning, but slowly. I still don't quite remember where exactly I was last. What was I doing?

You said the medscan results looked promising?

Aye, the lesions have abated, though we'll see if there's lasting impact as she goes.



The lung and the broken arm are coming along. Looks a clean heal.

I'm not really paying attention anymore, but I feel a dull pain in my limbs as their words paint the picture of the state I'm in to my subconscious.

I feel utterly exhausted.

I briefly take in the surroundings I can make out. Surprisingly dingy. Pillars rise from concrete flooring, staggered between metal-plated walls across the room from my bed, which feels a bit rough and primitive.

If this is a medical suite, it feels... sparse. Loose cabinets, crash carts and limited optronics. The only light in this room other than the glow from the couple displays comes from several antiquated lamps across the center ceiling.

Distantly, from somewhere, the sound of a battering wind is howling through the structure. Despite how violent it sounds outside, the rhythm of it is delightfully reassuring, sized against the empty void. It beats wherever I was that I ended up in this condition. I hope.

I at least don't believe I have anything to fear for the moment, if I'm still breathing.

Grand, that's grand. Ma'am, take it slow. You're recovering from a pretty lengthy blackout.



We're still monitoring your condition, so just relax. You'll be a few days yet.

You don't have to tell me twice. I apparently got a whole lot of practice being immobile lately.

I catch one last look at the fuzzy figure as my eyes shut, and I plummet into a far more restful sleep.

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