(ASH)
For what felt like weeks, I drifted. Hands moved me and rearranged my floppy limbs, voices echoed through my hollow mind. I lay on something soft, a change from before —I thought so, at least.
Sometimes I felt a little warmer or a little cooler. But nothing hurt.
Even in my state of partial consciousness, that seemed odd. Very odd, in fact. Because I knew I'd been hurt. Injured, at least, and that should've included the other meaning of hurt, shouldn't it? I had bandages. I was aware of having them changed: unwrapped, ointment, wrapped again.
But I couldn't feel anything else beyond the very basic fact of being horizontal, or the sensation of touch versus air on my skin.
They'd hurt me. Again and again, they'd hurt me… until it didn't hurt anymore. And that had been worse.
But it took me a long time to begin to remember.
The memories came back along with my ability to begin to use my own body again.
