Where have I gone?

How long ago did I leave?

Where have I gone?

Can anyone still see me?

Where have I gone?

And who the hell should I believe is me?

Hawksley Workman - It's Not Me

...

I've walked it before. This old dirt road. I think I walked it yesterday. And the day before that. And everyday leading to this one. It's hot and dry. Every step I take kicks up dust. The road stretches on forever in front of me, yet it's no longer than ever before. I know the end will come soon.

My head hurts. I press my hand to the side of it, hoping the pressure will alleviate the pain. No such luck. When I pull it away, it's red and wet. Bleeding again. Still? Bleeding still.

Up ahead it's raining. Good. I can rinse some of this out of my hair before I get to the stop sign. Always that old, rusty stop sign. I want to look my best.

I reach the point where the rain starts. The line across the road is perfect. I appreciate it for a moment before stepping into the downpour. It's painful at first. Reminiscent of what brought me here. Before long, though, it's a soothing, warm rain. It cleanses me of all traces of blood, dirt, and smoke, as I walk through. All of my wounds disappear in the healing water, and my pain is gone.

It's a brief rain shower, and before I know it, I'm back on the dusty, dry road. Much cleaner. Things much clearer. I look back and there's no trace of the rain. I continue on my way. I can see the stop sign now. Almost there.

In a blink, I'm standing at the end of the road. I can go left or right, not straight. Across the road is a tall field. Impossibly tall. Standing up like a wall. Straight across isn't an option. Someone else already took that way, and now it's closed off to me.

I can hear him coming now. Rustling in the brush of the field. I'm nervous at the thought of seeing him again. And of him seeing me. Before I can turn back, there he is, stalking out of the brush. A clown, but he's dressed as my Jack. He doesn't fool me, not anymore.

"Look at you," he rakes his eyes up my body. "All dressed up. Ready for your big day?"

I look down and see that I'm wearing a green and purple dress. No. The green and purple dress. When I look back up, the disguise has fallen away, and now he's just a scary clown, all traces of my Jack nowhere to be seen. The truthfulness of the change allows me to relax just a little bit.

"I don't know..." I stammer dumbly.

He pulls his scarred, red lips back in an exaggerated expression of uncertainty. "Well, you've got an important decision to make, Sugar," he starts circling me. "Left or right."

"What's right?" I ask, catching his eyes with mine as he stops and stands before me, his hands coming to rest on my hips.

"Just a matter of perspective," he shakes his head dismissively. "You always go right. It brings you back here. You know what's right."

My eyes flutter closed and I sigh. "So, what's left?" I open them and the clown once again has Jack's face. And he's sad. Heartbroken. Devastated.

He shrugs, bringing gentle hands to my face. "Only one way to find out."

...

First there were explosions. Just sounds suddenly booming in my ears from the darkness. Varying volumes. Varying distances. All around. Engines. Beeping. Loud, frenzied voices. Crying. Metal on metal. Squeaking shoes. Low, hushed tones. Comforting whispers. It comes and goes in waves. Feels like a lifetime.

Then, sensations. Hot and cold, a lot of those. Pain. Dull and throbbing. Softness beneath me. Cool cotton in my fingers. A sharp jab. An itch on my calf. A damp cloth. A hand on my skin. A headache. Oh, what a headache. I know that headache.

Finally, bursts of vision. Bright white. The sun in my eyes, never wanting to leave. White walls. Blurry silhouettes passing a door. Faceless people, too distant to see. A monitor of some description. Hard, off white plastic. Fluorescent lights. A note above me.

"You're in the hospital.

Stay calm.

Push the button in your right hand.

You are safe."

Safe. What does that mean?

Well, it means I'm alive, for one thing. But what else?

Push the button. Right. Right hand.

God, it's like I'm in slow motion. Like I haven't moved in, how long? I don't know. Moving my thumb to press the button hurts all the way up to my neck.

I have questions. Can I talk? No one's here yet. I try to hum. It's rough. Dry and painful. I try to open my mouth. The pain shoots from my jaw to behind my eyes. I cry out. Too dry. It makes me start to cough.

My chest aches. My lungs scream. Stay calm.

Can't breathe.

Panicking.

A silhouette in the door. I reach out. They hurry to me. Three of them. Easing me down. Talking calmly. Shushing me. I look at their faces. Calm concern. Attentive care. Cautious optimism.

I relax.

I'm alive.

I'm safe.

I'm awake.

...

A/N: A short one to start things off. I'm so glad some of my old pals are still around here and were excited to see the updates. It was great hearing from you guys! I hope you enjoy things as they progress. Thanks to all who read, reviewed, faved, and followed Changes and Flashing. I hope you like It's Not Me. My goal is to update every Sunday. Keep your eyes peeled!