A boy lies motionless in bed, his eyes struggling to make sense of his surroundings. A doctor and nurses examine him slowly and carefully, their expressions with concern- he looks so fragile, as fragile could possibly be. In their eyes he could disappear at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, the boy is puzzled; he’s trying to grasp what “Doctor” means, after hearing their exchanges, he heard that word a lot. He knows the word but not its significance, like a curious kid it lingered in his mind, but he could not remember, and that bothers him deeply. His face contorts with frustration showing his anger as he tries harder to understand when a sudden headache suddenly intensifies his discomfort.

Slowly, the words in his head come together to make sense of his surroundings, and gradually the boy in the bed starts to comprehend. Each object around him becoming recognizable, but not helping him understand.

The boy tries to get up, but his arms feel like they were glued to the bed and his legs like they were frozen in place , making any movement sluggish.

All the nurses kept their gazes on him, their faces a mixture of worry and pity, careful in case he might collapse or suffer an episode. Their faces were clearly showing worry and pity. To them, this was a miracle and yet they could not but mourn for all the time the boy had lost, and for the challenges he was bound to face.

The doctor had begun questioning the nurses first. They responded swiftly and clearly, trying hard not to waste any of the doctor’s time. The exchanges weren’t too many and in mere moments the questions finished, like a sharp knife cutting through butter, and just as sharply his full attention focused on the boy on the bed. Without hesitation, the doctor began to ask his questions.

“Do you know where you are?” asked the doctor, not expecting a coherent answer looking down at his notes knowing this would take time.

“Where am I?” asked the boy on the bed in response. His echo of the question surprises everyone in the room.

No one in the room expected an answer, much less for the answer to be another question. Even the boy in the bed himself who is surprised by his own reflex-like response.

It wasn’t apparent to anyone the amount of effort it took for the boy in the bed to speak. He was still trying to understand what was going on when the question was asked by the doctor, and yet he had spouted out a question of his own.

‘what is “where”? “Here”? What does that mean?’ He found himself struggling to mentally process what these phrases meant.

“Northern Lights Hospital, Anchorage, Alaska,” Dr.Park answers after a pause, cutting through the tense silence.

The boy has no clue of what ‘Alaska’ is, though he begins to form a shape in his mind. The rest of the words being asked by the doctor was now starting to make more sense to him, bit by bit deciphering every word at a rapid pace, as for how he is doing it remains a mystery to him.

“I don’t know where I am,” he answers, feeling defeated.

“Do you know the current date?” the doctor asks, his tone clinical and detached as if expecting confusion to continue-it was standard procedure for him. The doctor remained unmoved, unlike the nurses around him.

“I don’t know,” responded the boy on the bed, feeling the tension slowly rise in his head.

“Do you have any family members?” the doctor continues, throwing questions rapidly towards him.

“I don’t know,” repeated the boy, each question multiplying the pain in his head, or was it his heart?.

“Do you know your name?” the doctor persists, not even bothering to write down ‘I don’t know’ as an answer in his notes.

“No,” said the boy, dejection in his eyes.

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All these questions still foreign to him. The current date?, he doesn’t know that. Family members?, he doesn’t know what family even means, much less if he has any and yet that question stings at him somewhere deep that no form of physical pain could reach. A name?, at least he understood that much, but did he ever have one?, he could not recall.

The boy begings to feel pensive, ‘What am I doing here?’ he wonders as questions start to fill his mind one by one. when all of the sudden, a particular probing question causes his heart to skip a beat, as if it was no longer there, his heart had sunk into a pit of near despair.

“Do you know why you are here?” the doctor’s tone suddenly shifts with the question.

His eyes now focusing on the patient, no longer looking at his notes for the first time. As if the question had a deeper meaning than it was intended, and for the first time the boy locked eyes with the doctor, was the boy overthinking?, or did this deep pain in his hollow chest mean something?.

All the thoughts and questions in the boy’s mind were put on hold, and he found himself panicking. ‘do you know why you are here?, this question alone repeated in his head. Every muscle fiber in his body pushing inwards, wanting to do something, but not know what. His brain throbs, his guts twirling around, his insides want to come out through his mouth. The breathing became a battle between him and his body. He wants to respond to this question, like it was his sole purpose to.

Sweat showers his body and he covers his mouth with his shaking hand, fighting the urge to vomit, he kept looking for the answer. Something very important was missing from his head- Something he was not allowed to forget was lost somewhere within his thoughts. The answer to the doctor’s question is tied to his very own existence, and he had lost it, he had lost his purpose.

“Mina, take care of the patient, let’s postpone any further questions. His current diagnosis is simply Post Traumatic-Amnesia,” the doctor instructs calmly and quickly as he leaves the room, notes in hand.

Tears fill the boy’s eyes. Why is he crying?, because he had lost his reason to exist, but even then for some odd reason, he wanted to implant his fist on that doctor’s face, and maybe that is a sliver of hope, that he still has a will to live.

***[Dr.Park, Darl Park Gumzoo, Senior Neurologist at Northern Lights Hospital]***

Several days have passed and the patient shows no signs of improvement. He continues to cry in that room weeping, as if mourning for something he had lost. The nursing staff keep asking if there is anything more that could be done for him, but the reality of his case was much more complicated, the only answer I had was for patience; to wait and hope to find any family members of his.

My main worry was not finding any of the disabilities that should’ve developed-impairments, be it psychological or physical, there was no sign of the persistent vegetative state of which most patients would suffer from after just a few months in a coma.

Knowing the best course of action to help this patient is quite difficult, and I am not going to spend time helping out of good will. Therefor I am coming up with new Ideas, in hopes that after a while he can pick himself up.

‘We have to start rehabilitation right away,’ this I say to myself.

I’ll have Karlin assign some nurses to care for this patient. Working along side her for so long made me feel confident in placing my trust in her.

Probably the most competent and caring nurse in the entire hospital. She had been working here for close to 20 years, and is by far the most qualified nurse in this hospital in my eyes, she can recommend someone good.

As for my actual plans, it will unfold itself as we go. After all, how often do you come across a patient that had been in a coma for 10 years?. No immediate family to speak of, and no past history of any sort. Trying to figure out how they hadn’t pulled the plug years ago in it of itself was a mystery, but I hope to see him walking out of this hospital soon enough.

Who knows? he still seems young. A young boy chasing his dreams after being comatose for 10 long years sounds like a good story, one the hospital needs right now, or maybe it was me that wanted to see him stand for himself? either way, I want him to get off this hospital.

Seeing his eyes, which if one looked at for too long, you could see his pain, almost feel it even. I could see how lost he was, and that reminded me of ‘him’, memories which had been buried long ago, memories which I’ll keep buried. Being in the same room as him made it hard to keep my face straight, I hated that.

***

The boy was seated in a wheelchair, being pushed down one of many sterile white corridors by a fragile and kind nurse. The boy would give her a glance every now and then, warmth radiated from her which made it hard for him to ignore. The boy’s legs were still weak, all his limbs felt like jelly, but he could now begin to somewhat move his fingers and toes slightly.

As they moved, the boy would see other patients, but barely any who looked as young. This place is very quiet, yet to him, it screams with emotions. He could feel the echoes around the entire floor, emotions which felt strong, yet calm and serene, he could almost touch them, but he snapped out of it, almost getting lost into the overwhelming feelings, he had been getting slightly better at it overtime.

The only sound that was audible was the squeak of the wheelchair’s well-worn wheels. He wondered about the many people who sat in that same chair, and just how many were around here now?.

After arriving to his destination, the nurse closes the doors behind him, and with it, his previous thoughts closed as well.

“Nice to see you again,” the doctor was the first to speak. “The accompanying you today, Karlin , will oversee your rehabilitation. She will assist your recovery while we investigate and continue to look for any family member, or until you are capable enough to reintegrate into society and forge a path of your own.”

Unfamiliar words were said to the crippled boy, but he calmly and quickly tries to understand them: ‘rehabilitation? society? why should I be part of it?’, the boy monologues to himself.

“Society is who we are”, said the doctor, standing directly in front of the boy once more.

The boy in the wheelchair had whispered out his thoughts unknowingly. There is something in what the doctor said that did not become any easier to understand like anything he had heard before.

“Who am I? Who are you? What are we?”, asked the boy.

“You are Hanniel Lennon, I am Dr.Park, and well-“, Dr.Park did not know how to respond to that last question, searching for the right words he simply answered, “we are human.”

Dr.Park could not meet Han’s gaze, those deep almost entire black eyes unnerving him, hunting him. Maybe it made him afraid? but that was absurd;nothing had truly scared him for years. Yet, the pain of Han’s eyes brought unwelcome memories surging back, memories of that person that he tried to hide away started to bloom once more. Dr.Park wanted to leave this room again, but he forced himself to stay.

He didn’t know what to do with Han other than basic rehabilitation, but it was evident to him that he needed more than just that, after all, that gaze was the same as his brother’s from so long ago.