1: The Forgotten Life

Episode One

The frantic, relentless drumming of the heart monitor BEEP-BEEP-BEEP was the only boundary keeping Genesis tethered to the waking world. She was fifteen years old, Days after a brutal car accident, remained unresponsive. Her mind was trapped in a cage of flesh and bone. Her frail form connected to life by a tangle of tubes and wires that fed her medicine and nutrients. Every sensation was dulled by the thick cotton bandages swathing her skull yet unexpectedly amplified by the sheer terror of her circumstance.

The room had settled into a solemn atmosphere. The air smelled constantly of harsh disinfectant and antiseptic wipes, a clinical scent that offered no comfort. Tubes, wires, and the metronome-like whoosh-hiss of the respiratory machine were the endless, terrifying companions of her traumatic brain injury. She could feel the rough, heavy linen of the hospital sheets pressing down on her skin, and beneath that, the subtle, agonizing throb behind her eyes, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps the damage had been done.

Her parents, Sarah, and David Collins, sat watchfully by her side, their faces reflecting the weight of worry and fatigue accumulated over days of waiting. Sarah sat close enough that Genesis could feel her warmth, but the distance felt infinite. She heard Sarah’s frequent, choked sobs, quickly muffled into a tissue. She felt the faint, rhythmic squeeze of her father, David’s, comforting hand on hers. They were right there, yet they felt a thousand miles away.

The brutal car accident had dealt the family a devastating blow, leaving Genesis in a coma with severe head trauma. The news was overwhelming, instantly spiraling her parents into a void of fear and uncertainty. Yet, despite the grim prognosis, a glimmer of hope persisted. Dr. Patel and his team remained cautiously optimistic about her chances of awakening, a belief that continued to fuel her parents' prayers and their enduring hope for their daughter's full recovery.

Days bled into weeks. The initial shock gave way to a weary, heavy routine. Sarah and David took turns at the bedside, leaving only for short, mandatory breaks to shower or grab a quick, tasteless meal. They communicated in hushed tones, the simple question, "Any change?" passing between them with every shift change. They learned the names of the night nurses, memorized the tiny fluctuations on the monitor screen, and began to treat the sterile hospital room not as a temporary place, but as a second home. The hope was still there, but it was now threaded with the heavy, brittle thread of exhaustion and the constant, silent battle against despair.

"Your daughter suffered a significant impact to her head that resulted in traumatic brain injury,” Dr. Patel explained gently.

“She’s stable for now, but we need to monitor her closely. It's crucial that we give her brain time to heal."

Sarah nodded, tears welling as she fought to contain her anxiety. David simply squeezed her hand, offering silent, steady support. Despite the doctor's reassurances, the days stretched on with no change in Genesis's condition. The machines maintained their steady, tireless rhythm, a constant, clinical reminder of her fragile state.

In her total state of immobility, Genesis was acutely aware of everything happening around her. She struggled against the darkness, desperate to force her eyes open and see her mother. She listened to the hushed conversations of the medical staff, the tap of footsteps moving down the hall, and the soft, earnest words of family and friends who came to visit.

The most vital sounds were those of her parents. Her father's soothing tones comforted her as he reassured her mother, but the air was heavy with her mother's stifled sobs and the fervent, whispered prayers that hung in the room. Every sound, no matter how faint, was a lifeline connecting her to the world outside her temporary isolation, a world she ached to reenter.

**********

Inside Genesis's mind, a completely different story was unfolding. As her body lay motionless, a strange, sweet sensation washed over her. It began as a gentle pull, a quiet whisper deep in the darkness. She felt weightless, completely untethered, like a feather floating in a huge, airy space. Around her, vibrant colors merged and shifted in slow motion, colors that did not exist in the normal world.

The sounds of the beeping machines, the whoosh of the respirator, her mother’s anxious voice, all faded away and replaced by an absolute quietness. Genesis found herself in a surreal dreamscape, a place where time itself seemed to unfold slowly, without end. Despite the strange power of the experience, she remained calm watching it all unfold. In the depths of this subconscious state, the fifteen-year-old's comatose mind began a long, solitary journey away from the sterile hospital room and toward her past. There, her memories began to stir like leaves rustling in a gentle wind.

She did not feel fear, which was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. Instead, she felt a profound, chilling calmness. e strange, complete relief of being finally, blissfully free from the iron weight of her paralyzed body. The agonizing throbbing pain in her skull was gone, replaced by a crystalline silence. Her comatose mind, the mind of a fifteen-year-old girl fighting for survival, began to wander through this newly discovered internal architecture.

************

The transition was seamless and fast, though not smooth. It was like walking into a dream she’d completely forgotten. She felt the familiar rush of excitement and new discovery. The colors instantly slammed together, memories flooded back all at once, overwhelming her. Genesis gasped, her own breath sounding loud and shaky, as the strange light snapped into the bright, sharp sunlight hitting the sidewalk. At first, there were only small flashes: a picture of a university campus, the sound of laughter, and the warm sun on her skin. Then, a switch flipped. She was suddenly there. She was a 25-year-old woman on the grounds of Nova Terra University, surrounded by the sights and sounds of a bygone era.

She was whole. She could stand and move, and the feeling was completely terrifying. Her hand flew up to her head. There were no thick bandages. Only the familiar feel of her own hair. This small, important detail felt the most unreal.

She stumbled slightly on the curb of a paved walkway. The heavy books in her arms felt strange and weighed her down. She looked down at her hands, they were thin and powerful, with clear joints and the first signs of getting older. They were many years older than the small, hurt hands strapped to the hospital bed. Her body moved with a smooth, sure confidence as she slowly walked on the busy area of Nova Terra University.

The familiar sights around her gave her a strange comfort in the middle of her confusion. She felt like she belonged there. She was no longer a teenager in a coma, but a lively young woman who was excited about finishing college soon.

She reached into her bag for her small mirror to check her face. Her heart leapt, and a feeling of déjà vu washed over her when she saw the detailed design on the cover. It was exactly the same as the small mirror she currently owned and cherished in her fifteen-year-old life prior to the accident.

She had gotten it while shopping with her mother, Sarah, at a large outdoor market when she was ten years old. She remembered feeling drawn to that mirror the second she saw it. She asked her mother if she could have it, and Sarah agreed immediately.

Holding it now, she felt a mix of sweet sadness and deep yearning, a sharp reminder of the strange, dream-like life she was in. This discovery brought up a strong feeling inside her, mixing sadness for her sleeping self with the hope that maybe, in some way, she was still linked to the world she knew.

She lifted it and stared at her reflection, memorizing the differences. Piercing green eyes were framed by thick, wire-rimmed glasses that felt clumsy and old-fashioned compared to the sleek, trendy frames she preferred. The slight, almost imperceptible rounding of the jawline spoke of a decade of change. Her hair, the same long, black curls that were her defining trait, were currently tied back in a careless, tight ponytail.

Her hand moved without consulting her mind. In one quick motion, she ripped out the hair band, let her heavy curls fall, and then instantly scooped them up again. Her fingers performed a complex twist she didn't know she knew, and a smooth ponytail snapped into place.

The perfect reality of that simple action was chilling. The exact feeling of her hair's weight, the way her hands moved without any thoughts, proved a life had been lived. Her body was running on a memory she hadn't made yet. When exactly, she wondered, did this version of me exist?

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***