Consciousness ebbed in and out of crevices, spilling down into cracks until his brain began to fill with awareness.

What day is it? Work??

His eyelids strained and slowly pushed open, a minuscule task that, for some reason, felt like moving a mountain. Light flooded in, overwhelming his vision and forcing his eyelids back down. He tried again, this time letting the light peek into his pupil bit by bit. A white wall greeted him with a sterile hello.

Where am I??

He tried twisting his neck to look to the right, then to the left only to be thwarted in all his attempts. He wrestled to bring his hands to his face, but he was pinned. His pristine bedding wouldn’t even ripple.

What’s going on? Why can’t I move?

Panic tackled his awareness and drowned out all of his senses.

This is not good. Am I being held hostage? Had too much to drink?

“HELP!” he screamed, but the silence remained untouched.

I can’t feel my body. I can’t speak. I can see where my legs are, but I’m disconnected, an unattached spirit. This doesn’t make sense. Is this death? What’s going on?

A door opened and someone walked in. Perhaps it was God to deliver his fate.

“Oh, you’re awake. Hi, my name is Kate,” said a soft lilac voice. Suddenly she was at the end of the bed with a sorrowful face that she was trying to hide with a smile.

“I’m sorry to say that you’ve been in a very bad car accident, sir. Eyewitnesses say you were out for a run when a driver lost control of his car and hit you…”

She kept talking, but her words flew directly through him and bounced against the wall.

Accident? I don’t remember an accident. He paused, trying to remember anything before waking up. I…I can’t remember…a thing. I can’t remember a single thing! I can’t remember my life! How can I not have a single memory? Who am I?

“…Sir?” He couldn’t help but see as she tried to get his attention by putting her hand on where his foot. He couldn’t feel it. She jumped back and looked down at her feet. Her rosewood hair fell in her face, hiding her blush.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. You are completely paralyzed…”

Paralyzed. Completely. Trapped. Dead. I’m broken. In every way. I am nothing.

He closed his eyes, the only form of movement he could now manage. A firing squad of pain receptors in his brain yelled of impending doom.

“…and you didn’t have any ID on you so we haven’t been able to call anyone to be with you…”

I’m in hell. And death still marches toward me. But I don’t want to die! Of course living this way is no life. And really, what does it mean to die when you don’t remember living?

He struggled to open his eyes again. Kate had disappeared from the foot of his bed. He was left to look at the wall. He hadn’t noticed the painting the first time. It was a lonely scene of a Paris café; two coffees sitting untouched next to a croissant. Flowers adorned the table, but they couldn’t help the sense of abandonment the table felt.

Paris. Ha. I can’t remember my name, but I know that’s Paris. Someone explain that one to me. Also, explain why I feel so desolate at the thought of the place? Argh! Pain is preferable to this agonizing feeling I’m losing something important. Don’t ask me what though. Why can’t I remember?! Remember, damn it! Just remember!

He closed his eyes to stop looking at the painting.

Who puts that kind of retched artwork in a hospital?! Damn that painting. Damn that driver. Damn the world. Damn my stupid brain for not remembering.

He opened his eyes and looked at the painting again. This time, something changed. It was as if one of the crevices in his brain opened up and his consciousness sloshed down to fill it, explore it. Flashes of a woman overwhelmed his vision. Her face was the most exquisite thing. Glass couldn’t have been smoother. Caribbean-blue eyes shimmered while strawberry lips smiled.

Then flash. He was in the Quartier latin casually sitting outside a café. She walked by, wisps of golden hair trailing behind her. His heart leaped higher than he thought possible. He followed her until he could “accidentally” bump into her.

Flash. They sat on the steps of Sacré Cœur, quietly watching the sun set on Paris. He looked at her and felt his heart leap again. The light hitting her face made her seem heavenly. And to him, she was. He unwrapped his hand from hers, cupped her chin and moved her face in his direction. He moved in slowly to keep his heart from exploding. Their lips met, intertwining for the first time.

Flash. She was walking toward him, flowers held loosely in both hands. Their eyes met. She smiled. He was the luckiest man alive.

Flash. She was lying next to him in bed, their bed. She casually mussed his hair as she told him the secrets of the world. He was half asleep. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered in his ear.

Sophie.

His eyes closed.

I don’t know where you are, but Death is coming. I can feel it all around. I will hang on for you.

He opened his eyes again, wanting the painting to somehow send a message to her, tell her where he was.

No! My vision, it’s all I have left. Please, God. No! Not the painting! It’s disappearing…on every side it’s fading. Blackness! No! Please, God, just one more time. You have to let me see her one more time. One more time. Please, God. Please. Just once.

Pain coursed through his awareness.

He was losing the war.

Sophie. I love you so much.

Sophie…