One's Last Legs

My eyes widened at the sight of the cherry red blood dripping from my freezing hands onto my scarred knees. I could feel the side of my head flooding with pain. Confused, I slowly stood up, hardly being able to stand. My legs trembled and the world began to spin. I could not seem to remember what I was doing that night on the side of a road. 

I wiped my hands on my clothes and all of a sudden, I heard a thud behind me. My head shifted to reveal a bald old man slowly walking towards me. I could feel my heart pounding, as I slowly began to walk backward. But my legs felt like they would shatter at any moment. So I just watched. As the man moved closer and closer. Just inches away from me, he put his cold hand on my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. 

“Elliot,” he said to me. “Come home”. 

“Who are you,” I asked in confusion. The man’s eyebrows rose, and his lips separated. 

“Your grandfather,” he whispered. My eyebrows furrowed. I did not know why this strange man said he was my grandfather, but then I asked myself who is my grandfather? I could not remember anything. I did not know whether or not to trust the man. Panicked, I decided to run. A wave of pain hit my legs with every step I took, but I could not think of what else to do.

 Soon, a bus began to approach me. I waved my arm around violently to signal the bus to stop. It started slowing down, creating a piercing screech as it came to a stop. I walked inside, and all eyes stared at my bloody head. I could not blame them though.

 I sat down in an empty seat at the back of the bus. The bus began to move, creating a vibration that made my legs feel numb, but perhaps that was a good thing, to cover up the pain. The soothing hum of the air conditioning made me feel alone but in a good way. It felt like the horrifying world around me did not exist. I stared out of the window at the dark night sky, wondering if someone else, miles away from me was looking at the same sky. I guess I felt bad for running away from the old man, but what if he was not my grandfather? I tried to forget about him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think about the fact that I did not know where I was going, or even who I was. But I liked not knowing because it meant that I could choose to be whoever I wanted to. 

The vibration of the bus came to a halt. I looked in front of me to see a brown-haired boy around my age walking down the aisle, with his eyes glued on me. He took a seat right next to me, still staring right into my eyes.

“What happened to you?” he asked me in a scratchy, yet soft voice. I shrugged, hoping he would stop talking to me. “What’s your name?” he asked louder. 

“Elliot,” I said quietly, recalling the name the old man had called me, as I turned my head to look out of the window. 

“Where are you headed?” he questioned. I shrugged again. “You know you’re supposed to say something right?” I couldn’t help but ignore him. “Do you want me to take you to a hospital? You know your head is bleeding right?”

“Yes, I know,” I responded angrily. 

“Mm-kay, I’ll take you to a hospital,”  he said.

I knew he was only being nice, but I was still angry. I mean there was nothing to be angry about, but I still was. The rest of the bus ride was silent, which was nice. I wanted to fall asleep, but the hard, uncomfortable seat kept me awake, thinking about the fact that I could not remember anything from my past. 

Eventually, the bus stopped in what seemed like a big city. The boy next to me tapped my shoulder and told me to get up. We walked out of the bus and he led me to a small hospital, not very far from the bus stop. We went inside and the smell of sick people and medicine made its way up my nose. The boy started saying something to a nurse, I could not tell what he was saying, but the nurse told me to follow her. 

She led me into a dim-lit room with a bed and a doctor. I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to get better. I liked not knowing about my past. I liked it more than anyone should. My past might have been nice, but what was the point of remembering? Not knowing meant that I could picture it to be whatever I wanted. I did not know much about who I was, but if I found myself hurt on the side of a road, it must not have been very nice being me right? The doctor made me sit down on the bed, and started cleaning my wound.

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“I fell,” I said, although I did not actually know.

“Do you think you experienced any memory loss?”

“No,” I lied. The doctor did not respond after that. She eventually finished cleaning and bandaging my head and let me go. The boy from before was gone. Part of me wondered where he went, but the other part did not care. I walked outside the hospital in search of food. I realized I did not have any money, but I still walked into a crowded fast-food restaurant, looking for any leftover food that I could eat. I found a half-eaten hamburger which I ate without any second thoughts. I walked out of the restaurant eating the burger that tasted like cardboard, yet it still gave me joy. I liked living like this, without any identity.