I Don't Remember
The Morning
"What if she doesn't wake up?" It sounded like a woman in distress.
"She will," a man said. Comforting her, most likely.
"It's been two weeks," the woman cried.
"I'll go get some food," the man whispered.
"Carly, please wake up," she moaned. Carly.
That's my name. Is she talking to me? I guess I should find out. Maybe I know her.
I cracked my eyes open and looked around. I was in a small room. There were three doors, one had a bathroom behind it and the other two were mysteries. There were many machine behind me and I was hooked up to most of them. A small woman with her head in her hands sat in a chair next to my bed. There were three other chairs but they were empty. A small table sat in the corner with many gifts on top and balloons and signs all around the room. A TV was in the corner on the wall. The wall was white with a string of hearts about a foot off the ground and a foot from the ceiling.
I shifted slightly in the bed and the woman looked up. Her big brown eyes were red and puffy. Her long brown hair was a mess and she had bags under her eyes. Her face lit up when she saw me though.
Why? Does she know me? Do I know her? I looked her over again. No, I don't know her.
"Carly," she squealed. She knew me. She wrapped her arms around my small frame. She pulled back when she realized I wasn't hugging her back.
"Carly what's wrong?"
"What happened? And who are you?"