A quiet noise stirs memories, causes a small form to stir and awaken from the darkness. The movement is silent, but still:
Beep.... Beep... Beep...
A hospital? A bed? These memories are not my own.
Still, the repetitive noise continues. Eyes open to a large room broken off by pale blue curtains with printing of faded flowers. The room smells heavily of sweet blossoms and rubbing alcohol. Beyond the curtains is the sound of heavy snoring.
The figure stirs and sits upright with some effort; brushes short blonde hair back with fingers spotted with paint. The television in the corner is off; the glass on its surface lends a mirror for the man now looking at his face.
No, this isn't me at all. This is...the body of a mortal?
Journal Entry of Jonathan Taylis, June 20 1999:
Dreams of awakening to the hospital bed last night. Later, I had dreams of war. Long and bloody. I don't want to think about that. Went to the museum to try and clear my mind of...no. I went to the museum and looked over the pictures, spoke to the people there. Most are regulars, not visitors; and many are looking for something in the pictures they cannot understand. I can help them with that. For now....back to painting.
Tonight, I have been invited to a nightclub by a lovely lady. I suppose it cannot hurt to go. She is named Sarah, and she is a museum regular, like myself, though she does not paint. We're going to Raphael's. I have some rather bitter memories at the mention of such a name. We'll see.