{"id":2762,"date":"2025-03-08T14:50:53","date_gmt":"2025-03-08T21:50:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2762"},"modified":"2025-03-08T14:50:53","modified_gmt":"2025-03-08T21:50:53","slug":"what-i-left-behind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2025\/03\/08\/what-i-left-behind\/","title":{"rendered":"What I Left Behind"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

prompt: Center your story around someone who realizes they\u2019ve left something behind.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

available at Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bed I lay on was comfortable enough, but not plush. The walls were a pale blue with no windows. An IV ran into my arm, and a tangle of cables connected me to a device that quietly monitored my vitals. There was a white corridor outside the open door. The closed door on the wall opposite my head had a toilet sign. Hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat up, putting my feet on the floor. I felt weak. At first, I wasn\u2019t sure I was feeling it, but a faint thrum carried through the floor \u2014 deck, my mind corrected. Hospital ship<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d no sooner deduced that than a nurse \u2014 or what I assumed was a nurse \u2014 walked in. She was short, no more than 150 centimeters, covered in a fine, taupe fur with delicate limbs and graceful fingers. Large eyes set aside her head gave her a field of vision far beyond 180 degrees. A striped tail swished behind her as she walked, and she put on a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. Something about her felt familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou mustn\u2019t try to get up yet.\u201d Her voice was somewhere between a purr and a growl. One of her eyes focused on me while the other seemed to be watching the device. \u201cI\u2019m Joxi, the night nurse. Now that you\u2019re awake, the doctor and physical therapist will be in to go over your next steps \u2014 little joke for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People of her species were called Gortian but called themselves anushi, in the same way we call ourselves human, but others call us Earthian. I wasn\u2019t sure how I knew that \u2014 I just did. Just like I knew that this ship was a human design.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My voice was weak and raspy, and it took far too much energy to make a simple inquiry. \u201cYou \u2026 anushi \u2026 ship \u2026 human?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly.\u201d She helped me get my legs back on the bed and tucked me back in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow \u2026?\u201d I didn\u2019t have the energy to get the words out. How did I end up here? What happened?<\/em> The more I thought about it, the more I realized how little I knew. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am human. I am a man \u2026 I think.<\/em> My right hand went by instinct to my chest where I traced scars on both sides with a patch of hair between. I am a man. I am a human. My name is \u2026 is \u2026 I don\u2019t know. My job is \u2026 I worked in a pizza place in high school.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Memories newer than that elude me. I try to get the nurse\u2019s attention before she leaves. Even with her back turned to me, she sees the slight raise of my hand and turns back around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t \u2026\u201d I point at my head. \u201cWho am I?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll let the doctor explain, but it\u2019ll come back to you, Mr. Jacobs.\u201d She left without another word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jacobs<\/em>, I wondered, is that right?<\/em> It felt familiar, but something felt off, something missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doctor entered. Her uniform designated her as a Captain in the United Federation of Sol Navy. Equivalent to a Colonel in the other services. I considered that I might have been in the military with how easily I picked that up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d I said with as much gusto as I could muster, which wasn\u2019t much at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s good to see you awake,\u201d she said. \u201cCan you tell me your name, rank, and serial number?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI, uh \u2026 no, ma\u2019am. I know some things, like I\u2019m human, the nurse is anushi, this is a human hospital ship, and you\u2019re a Navy Captain, same rank as a ground-pounder Colonel, but I don\u2019t know how<\/em> I know them. She said my name is Jacobs, but I\u2019m not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doctor wrote some things on her pad, then looked up at me. \u201cYour name is Ryan Jacobs, you\u2019re a Corporal \u2014 at the moment \u2014 in the UFS Marine Corps, and you\u2019ve been in a coma for forty-three days. We\u2019re still a month out from home, but when we get there, you\u2019ve got an award, a promotion, and an early retirement waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m Dr. Wells, and I\u2019m the primary physician on your case. You suffered some serious head trauma, along with your arm,\u201d she said, nodding toward my left hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I flexed my left hand. It felt half-numb. I looked at it \u2026 or tried to. It wasn\u2019t there. My arm stopped at a bandage just past my elbow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy \u2026 where?\u201d How had I not noticed? How bad did I mess my head up? What had happened to me?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve found that replaying your helmet cam footage can help bring back memories faster.\u201d She looked grim. \u201cIt\u2019s not pretty, it\u2019s likely to be traumatizing, but it can help. Do you want to try?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do \u2026 yes, ma\u2019am, Captain Wells.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to be formal here, Ryan. You can just call me Doc.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks, Doc. How soon can I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTomorrow morning. You need a good night of non-comatose sleep, first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded and let my head rest back on the pillow. After she left, I watched the hallway for a bit. Mostly humans in Navy uniforms, but at least ten percent of the traffic were anushis in civilian clothes. Something about that caused an ache in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Exhaustion overtook me and I let it, before the ache could become sobbing. It didn\u2019t help. My own weeping woke me in the morning. A pair of warm hands held my right hand, a comfort when I didn\u2019t know I needed it. I turned to see a rough-and-tumble looking Petty Officer, tears pooled in his dark brown eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re not alone,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at his name tag. \u201cThanks, Masoe.\u201d I went to wipe my eyes with my left hand, and its absence made the tears start again, this time from frustration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Masoe helped me pull myself together and eat the light breakfast he\u2019d brought. He said two more meals and they could remove the feeding tube that went up my nose and down my throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After breakfast came the part I was both dreading and excited for. A chance to figure out what had happened, and maybe, just maybe, get my memories back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the reflection of the goggles for the immersion viewer I saw my bandaged, shaved head. I felt at the edge of the bandage with my hand, and Dr. Wells told me to be careful of it. Part of my skull was still out until the brain swelling was completely gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I won\u2019t recount the nightmare I relived. It involved an attack on an anushi colony by an unknown enemy. We were evacuating civilians, including a hospital. That\u2019s where I recognized Joxi. We were just getting going when the bombing started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While the other squads began working their way up, I led my squad to the third floor to work our way down. The entire third floor was the children\u2019s ward. Anushi kids are all eyes, teeth, and tails, and cute as hell because of it. They grow into them, eventually, but a ball of fluff with huge eyes and buck teeth\u2026 well, we got most of them out. The ones that could walk, and those that could be carried in our arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was an incubator, the first of nine, running on battery power that I was lugging down the stairs when the bomb hit the wall next to me. My helmet recorded it all, even after the shockwave knocked me unconscious. My hand and wrist were mangled along with the incubator and the fragile infant inside. Then the third floor collapsed on me and the recording cut out until I was dug out of the rubble fifty-six minutes later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The incubators! I had dragged them all close to the stairwell to speed things up. Had I doomed nine anushi children? What about the other side of the third floor? Would they have survived there?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t realize the questions I was asking myself, I was asking out loud. The voice I heard was that of Joxi. \u201cYou saved sixty-six out of sixty-seven children that day. The incubators were lucky. A bomb on the roof destroyed the other half of the third floor, and only the area above the stairwell collapsed. The incubators were sitting there in the open, dusty, but safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt the fur of her hands as she lifted the immersion viewer off my head. \u201cYou Marines saved almost everyone in the hospital.\u201d Her smile was bright, but I could see the sadness she tried to hide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlmost,\u201d I said, \u201cisn\u2019t everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She held me as I wept for loss, hers and mine. The loss of innocent lives, the loss of friends and loved ones, the loss of her home. But what had I lost? What had I left behind, other than my arm? I knew, somehow, that I would never be whole. My memories would never fully return. I\u2019d left a huge chunk of my past in the rubble of that hospital on a foreign world. I\u2019d lost a part of me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

prompt: Center your story around someone who realizes they\u2019ve left something behind. available at Reedsy The bed I lay on was comfortable enough, but not plush. The walls were a pale blue with no windows. …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[208],"tags":[210,228,209],"class_list":["post-2762","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-trunk-stories","tag-fiction","tag-science-fiction","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pxT7i-Iy","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2762","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2762"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2762\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2763,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2762\/revisions\/2763"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2762"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2762"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2762"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}