by M. R. Holman
his head and felt a spasm of pain course right down the middle of his skull. His neck was cool, and upon feeling it he recoiled at the sight of his own scarlet blood streaking his pallid hands. He was bleeding from the ears. Something was very wrong.
He began to think frantically, trying to recall any information about why he was here and what had happened. It seemed, however, that he could not remember anything at all.
"Date..." he whispered to himself. "What is the date?" He considered the question for a moment, but even thought was painful. He could feel each beat of his heart in his throbbing head.
"More importantly, what is my name?... C. There's definitely a C..."
The man stopped whispering to himself. He could hear the heavy footsteps of boots against a metal grate. Someone was coming.
"Hello? Can you please help me? I think I've sustained a head injury. I'm having trouble remembering anything..." the man called out toward the bars of his cell. The footsteps continued to grow closer, but whoever it was made no indication that they had heard him speak. In his blurred vision, he saw what appeared to be a woman carrying a clipboard. She walked directly past his cell without looking up.
"Hello? Can you please come back?" the man asked. Her footsteps continued to go in the opposite direction despite his pleas. What was happening?
He tried to stand up but found that his whole body ached, particularly his heels. He compromised by leaning forward onto his hands and knees, slowly crawling toward the bars of his cell. The man collapsed as he reached the bars, lying face down against the cool metallic floor of his cell. He passed out.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he awoke. A parade of boots marched past his cell only inches away from his face.
"Somebody, please. I've been very badly injured. I think I have a concussion or something. I shouldn't just be locked up like this," he called out, his voice echoing off the metal walls. The sound of footsteps thinned and disappeared as their progress continued without halting.
His vision was still somewhat blurred, but edges were becoming more finite. The outline of the pool of blood that had dripped from his mouth as he slept made itself readily evident as he raised his head from the floor. He pressed a hand to his ears and found that they were no longer bleeding. He was glad of that.
With great effort, he sat up. He felt lightheaded immediately, and scooted back against the wall. Sitting up on his own was still too taxing.
The hall beyond his cell was now silent aside from the buzzing of a light fixture mounted in the ceiling. He tried to look at the light fixture but it made his head ache. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Sometime later, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and opened his eyes. He did not call out to them or speak, but simply watched. His vision was continuously getting sharper. There were a man and a woman wearing white coats and carrying clipboards. A woman wearing a dark, forest green uniform was following them with her hand to her mouth. She appeared to be crying. She looked incredibly familiar.
"Hey!" he called to the woman. "Come back! I have to know what's happening. I shouldn't be treated like this. I know you..."
The group continued to walk. The woman continued to cry. None of them, however, gave the slightest acknowledgement to the man slumped against the wall of the cell they strode past.
That woman’s forest green uniform appeared to be the same as what he was wearing. Hers had been in a far better state. Rips, frays, and bloodstains covered his own uniform. He rubbed the wrinkles flat and felt something on his chest. Aha! His name! His name was stitched right there on his chest. Captain Tomlinson. That must have been why he was thinking it started with a C...
"Captain Tomlinson... Captain Tomlinson..." he repeated his name over and over. It just did not feel right coming off of his lips. "Captain... Tom? That feels better... I think."
So his name was Captain Tom. Unless he was wearing someone else's uniform, which he conceded was a very real possibility. If he was Captain Tom, what had he been a captain of?
"Captain Tom... Captain Tom..." he said the name continuously, hoping not to lose the one piece of information he had as his head leaned against the cool metal walls and he fell asleep once more.
When Captain Tom awoke, he found himself wearing a clean uniform. Who had changed his clothes? Why had they not woken him? Captain Tom was angry that someone had finally interacted with him but had done it in secret for some reason. How had they even pulled off that feat? Admittedly, he was in a sorry state at the moment, but he could hardly imagine being undressed and redressed without even waking up.
His vision had returned to normal, or what he assumed was normal. His head ached, but it was minor compared to what he had felt before. Captain Tom leaned forward from the wall experimentally. He did not feel faint. He laid his hands flat against the floor and began to crawl toward the bars of his cell. His body was in much less pain than it had been before. He took a deep breath and stood up.
His feet felt heavy. He assumed that it was from lack of walking for however long he had been in this cell. His heels still hurt much worse than anything else, although it was now a dull ache rather than a sharp pain.
Captain Tom put his hands around the bars of his cell with the intention of peering through the gaps in the bars. He was startled to find that the cell door swung open at his touch. Did he dare leave? He must have been in that cell for some reason... But why was it unlocked?
He stuck his head out of the doorway and looked to his right. There was a long hallway dotted with several cells. Judging by the lights, no other cells were occupied. At the far end of the hall was an intersection that split the hall in two.
To his left, he was shocked to see grass. He realized that he had not seen grass in a very long time, but exactly how long it had been, he was unsure. Captain Tom was relieved to discover that he remembered what it was at all. He looked at the ceiling above him. It disappeared in a clean line directly over where the grass began and the metallic grated walkway ended. He stepped out of his cell and walked to the left, into the grass.
It was twilight in a small clearing. Beyond the grass were dense trees encircling the field he was now standing in. Captain Tom cautiously walked to the center of the clearing. The air was still and filled with the sound of chirping crickets. He closed his eyes and relished in the cool, fresh air. When he opened his eyes, he tilted his head back and looked at the stars. The stars...
"I'm a starship captain..." he spoke into the cool night air. The weight of the realization crashed over him, but the rush of enlightenment was short lived. He heard whispering behind him.
"You used to be," the voice whispered. He spun around, looking frantically from side to side, but he saw no one. His head was beginning to ache again.
"What do you mean?" Captain Tom asked the open air.
"You used to be a lot of things, Tom..."
Captain Tom realized that the voice was coming from near his feet. He looked down and saw a ten foot long black snake looking up at him from the grass. It was as thick as a baseball bat and had its mouth open wide as it glared at him with its soulless eyes. He was not afraid of it, and in fact it felt familiar... “I suspected your involvement in all of this,” he said to the snake in a harsh, sharp tone. The words shocked him as they exited his mouth. He had not consciously chosen to speak them and had no firm idea what he even meant by them. As Captain Tom opened his mouth to speak again, someone grabbed him around the elbow and pulled him away from the snake.
"Don't," the person said, marching him through the clearing, toward the trees. "Don't even acknowledge it..." It was Captain Tom's father.
"Dad?" Captain Tom asked, bewildered.
"We can talk in a minute. We need to build a fire. Help me look for wood," his father said as he walked into the trees.
Captain Tom walked gingerly through the trees. His heels were bothering him again. When they each had an armful of wood, they deposited it a few yards away from the line of trees a
nd his father began to start the fire. His father sat down on the grass as the flames grew and took a deep breath. Captain Tom did the same.
"What are you doing here, dad?" Captain Tom asked over the crackling fire.
"Well, son, we've been worried... Your mother and I, I mean."
"Why is that?" Captain Tom asked. He was trying to remember the last time he had even spoken to his parents. He had a feeling that it had been a very long time indeed.
His father hesitated, lingering on the task of poking the logs with a stick before he answered. "We know what happened on your ship."
"What do you mean? What happened on my ship?" Captain Tom asked in a rush.
His father shook his head as though his son's questions had only confirmed his worries. "There was an accident. Well, there was actually a series of, uh, unfortunate... Listen, son, can we not talk about this right now? It's been so long since I've seen you, I'd just like to sit with you by the fire for a while."
As Captain Tom and his father sat in silence beside the fire, he tried in vain to remember the accident, or accidents. What had happened? It must have been bad for word to have gotten all the way to his parents on Earth.... Captain Tom watched the flickering flames cast shadows across his father’s face. He looked young, younger even than Captain Tom.
"Wait," said Captain Tom. A sudden realization, an uncovered memory, left him
