'I hear voices... So far away.'

Weary lids split the darkness in twain. Light peered in and battered the eyes in waves of pain. The contrast of the new light slowly toned down and revealed shapes, then furniture and equipment, then a foreign yet recognizable setting.

A hospital room.

The room was cold. Not in terms of temperature, but in a way that one only experienced when the unfair sting of life and death dulled the senses with uncertainty. Blues, whites and grays where the theme, and Arik didn't find it particularly welcoming.

Monotonous beeping snagged his attention to the left and he saw a large machine displaying an overwhelming amount of data. The machine had an IV drip strapped to the side that snaked down into Arik's vein in his arm. Along with that, he noticed a heart rate device strapped to his chest underneath a blue hospital gown.

In an abrupt flash of images, memories of the night before flooded his mind like a visceral nightmare. The rope, the window, the glass, the pavement. All of it slammed its way into the front of his mind. Arik frantically checked his body for cuts from the glass, a surefire testament to the night he trudged through, but nothing was to be found. Nothing except for some bandages stretching vertically from the center of his forehead up past his hairline.

The heart monitor beside him had skyrocketed due to his sudden recollection induced panic attack. He yanked the device off of his chest and pulled the IV from his arm. Blood spewed from the small hole where the tube was, crawling its way to his fingertips.

Standing up out of bed, Arik was wobbly and weak. He saw to the far left wall a window with dark curtains concealing it. He shuffled over to it, leaking a trail of blood onto the floor. Opening the curtains revealed a sunny and beautiful day over Zoro County. He was on the bottom story now of course.

A quivering smile let out a snicker.

"Guess I failed again, huh?"

"Mr. Mitchell, you're finally awake," called a stealthy nurse from the other side of the room, her face obviously upset at the blood on the floor.

"I am... But what is going on exactly?"

"It's a long story and not quite my jurisdiction, but Doctor Bran will be present in about five minutes to explain everything. Ok?"

"..."

"My name is Nurse Lamb. I am going to go fetch you a bandage. Is there anything else you need that I could get you? Food, wa–"

"No, I'm fine," Arik interrupted impatiently. "I am curious where my clothes are though."

The nurse shot a fake smile back. "Oh, they are in a plastic bag hung up in that closet there. Although, due to your circumstances, the laces of your shoes have been removed."

"Thank you?"

"Yep, no problem. Press that button there if you need anything." She gestured toward the bed and walked away.

Arik got dressed into his clothes and was perplexed to see some holes in his shirt. Holes that would have, no, must have been caused by the glass.

Lost in thought and confusion, he was startled by the door opening to a handsome older man in a lab coat.

"Ah, the great Lazarus, back from the dead," the doctor said with a chuckle marbled with crystal white teeth that brought out the old salt and pepper highlights of his thick combed back hair.

Arik shook his hand and spoke with fearful brows. "I was dead?"

"No. No, not dead. Just in a coma, for 12 days."

"What?" Arik's voice carried in disbelief.

The doctor revealed some cotton and gauze from his coat pocket and began wrapping a patch around Arik's bloodied arm. His hands were firm yet diligent.

"Yep. You gave a lot of people a scare. Especially your parents." The doctor sat on the bed beside an ashamed Arik. "For a number of reasons, really. But one of which you may not be too privy of." He held up a clip board with what looked like ex ray scans on them.

Arik's attention had peaked.

The next few minutes were those of mysticism and raw confusion. The doctor talked of a tumor that they found on the frontal cortex of Arik's brain through an MRI scan. That they performed a stereotactic brain biopsy on him (drilled a small hole into his skull to collect tissue samples from the tumor) and the results were an anomaly. He showed the MRI scans to Arik to further explain.

The scans, oddly enough, showed the entire frontal lobe as a separate or at least different entity from the rest of the brain. They didn't read the same, as if some other foreign frontal lobe was transplanted into Arik's skull. The doctor assured that that was impossible due to the absence of scarring from any kind of procedure, let alone whether it was medically possible to begin with.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Speaking of which, doc. I uh... fell, out of my apartment window. Six stories. And I could have sworn that I got cut. My clothes are even ripped. But I have no wounds."

"I am well aware of your, for lack of better words, healthy condition, Mr. Mitchell. I admit that it is terribly puzzling, but there are possible scientific theories for all of that." Doctor Bran sat up and faced his patient. "But I already have one scientific marvel on my plate with you, and in my opinion, it is a bit more pressing."

Arik remained silent. He was beyond puzzled at everything going on and was at a loss for words. He also was terribly ashamed to speak of his suicide attempt.

"You know, Mr. Mitchell, having alterations affect any part of your brain can have serious effects on your physical and mental control. The frontal lobe is exceptionally no different." A pause broke his flow. "The frontal lobe is the part of the brain responsible for a lot of mental functionalities, such as: social behaviors, problem solving, judgement and impulse control.

It is not uncommon for cranial impairments to make you do rash things without fully thinking out the full consequences."

"What are you getting at?"

The doctor looked at his clipboard in deep concentration. "Even further than just personality and emotional disturbances, the brain can make you see or believe things that are not true, to the point of making up complex stories for any assortment of reasons."

Arik jolted up in obvious aggravation and bewilderment. "Are you seriously saying that you think I made all of this up? That my whole purpose here is to pull off some elaborate hoax? What would be the point of that?"

"Okay, I see that I have upset you and that was not of my intention, honestly." Doctor Bran's calm and concerned face drew stark contrast to Arik's own. "I am simply choosing to give a bit of my own medical wisdom to you like you asked. These scans are 100% true and are proof that something is seriously wrong with your brain and has been for probably some time."

Arik's posture softened up a bit. He didn't like the idea of putting the blame of his negligence and woeful pity on a medical condition, but he knew he could only deny scientific proof for so long. He was playing a fool not to.

The doctor continued after a brief silence. "I do not believe you are spinning a false web, Mr. Mitchell. Or at least that you are aware that you are. However—" The doctor's tone shifted and drew a serious atmosphere. "I do believe that there is more to this story, and further research will flip the pages."

"Doc, I know what I saw."

"I'm sure you are convinced of that. But no one can survive a fall at that height, without a single wound at that. You see that right there?" The doctor nodded toward the dried blood coagulating on Arik's forearm. "And feel that right there?" pointing to his bandaged forehead with a pen. "You are far from indestructible, Mr. Mitchell."

The doctor tilted his head and squinted his eyes at Arik's forehead. "Actually, that surgical site on your head should be healed enough now for you to take the bandage off, if you so choose."

Arik stared through the doctor, unsure of anything at this point. What was he to say or think? According to this doctor, his whole world may be a figment of his imagination. Was he the most unlucky guy in the world with a knack for ruining any enjoyment of his life? Or was he just the product of some tumor that forced him to act in self destructive ways this whole time? Either way, one word popped up into his head: cursed.

A firm hand clutched his shoulder, snapping him out of his vortex of confusion. "You do not need to feel ashamed. We are here for you. We are here to help you. But to do that, we are going to need your cooperation as well. Understand?"

A solemn nod stirred the stagnant air.

"Good. Now your parents have been notified of your consciousness, and I need to grab some papers so that you and I can do a little mental risk assessment. Sound good?"

A second nod followed.

"Good." The firm hand patted Arik's shoulder and receded. The doctor turned from Arik and began walking to the door, raising his clipboard in the air. "I will get to the bottom of these readings, I promise you, Mr. Mitchell. We are in this together.

Oh, and you will be expecting some company throughout the day. I believe they are with the FBI. Sometimes they just like to put their nose in things to make sure everything is straightened out."

Doctor Bran gave one more toothy smile and closed the door.

Arik immediately began hyperventilating with a gasp as if he had been holding his breath that whole conversation. He collapsed to the bed behind him and combed his fingers through his black shaggy hair. The room was spinning with distress and the abrasive thoughts rampaging through his mind made him feel as if he was sinking through time and space, the very fabric of reality gliding past his person and looming over him like judgmental superiors.

'The confusion, the depression, the destruction, the lies, the anger, the selfishness, the invasiveness, the forced positivity, the fake concern of well being. They were all real. Nobody experienced that but me, damnit! How can this be? How can I go through all of this and still not be done? I ended it. Me. I pulled the trigger and took my life. Give me what I deserve, what I want. I did what needed to be done already.'

"So why am I still here?"

The words drenched in pain slipped out of his mouth before he could even tell if they were thoughts or vocalization. His flickering eyes focused on the shoelaces missing from his donned shoes and, like a storm melting away in the sky, his manic thoughts of dark screams became gentle whispers that awoke clarity.

'...No. I need to figure this out myself. I am my own investigator, judge, jury and executioner because only I believe and have seen my story.'

His thoughts formulated before his very existence and the superior towers of judgmental reality dwarfed back to their rightful place. His heart, body, and mind were finally aligned, not to end his story, but to pick it back up, or at least tie up loose ends.

Arik stood up from the stale hospital bed and wiped away tears that had made their way to his eyelashes.

"And I'm not going to wait for some stupid mental evaluation paperwork to get started."

He marched for the door with irritated dedication to leave the room he had been trapped in for almost two weeks. But upon grabbing the door handle, he paused and thought even better. He spun around and made haste toward the window that he was peering through earlier, the trail of blood still present. In a fluid motion he slid the window open and hopped out, making sure to clear the small hedge lining the building.

The irony forced a smile on Arik. Last time he had jumped out of a window was to end his life. Now he was jumping out of a window to discover any leads explaining his life. Like bittersweet poetry.

Like a budding flower from a rotted stump.