An overwhelming pain in my head was begging me to get up. I couldn't. I then tried to move my hand up to soothe the pain but I was too weak. I just laid there, breathing, hoping someone would come to find me, talk to me.

No one came.

A blackness swept over me and there was pain again. It felt deep within me, hammering me into pieces.

I fell asleep again. Or deep into unconsciousness again. I couldn't tell the difference.

"Dad, why hasn't Mom come home?" I furrowed my eyebrows as I thought of the response Dad would give.

"Oww. That-" He was at a lost of words and he looked sorrowful.

"What happened? Tell me please!" I pleaded, palms together. I wanted to know. Mom had not come home for two weeks by then. That was long for a four year old kid, not seeing her mother.

Dad used his knuckle to massage the top of his nose to his forehead. He seemed troubled. Shaking his head, he said, "Venessa, dear, you shouldn't know. I'll explain it to you one day."

"Just tell me now." I crossed my arms and closed my eyes as I looked at Dad as if I were a rich pampered princess.

He was still hesitating. "Mom won't be coming back..." His eyes glistened with a hint of tears in them when I opened my eyes.

"Why?" Being a kid, I was naive and innocent. I just didn't understand what he meant.

"She won't be coming back home." Dad repeated.

Although this conversation didn't make sense at all and was one of the few talks we had about Mom after she was gone, it haunted me badly and I wanted to shriek and shun away from it.

"won't be coming back" simply meant Mom was dead. And Dad saying it in such a depressing yet concealing manner made me feel bad for him. I felt bad for myself too.

At four, I lost my Mom forever...

All my vague and unclear memories of Mom flooded my confused head. I willed hard for them to stop but they were like the night. They continued coming at me, as if wanting me to do something. Mom was smiling, crying, angry, embarrassed, so many emotions at one time.

Then, her emotion theatre stopped playing and the scene changed.

I was in a field. I was wearing a plain pink sundress and holding a net, trying to catch insects. A blue sky was on top of me, filled with white fluffy clouds. The trees had birds chirping in them. The grass was green and long. I was running to somewhere, but nowhere at the same time.

I was looking for something to catch and it took time. The winged creature could be anywhere.

Suddenly, I felt a rock below my feet. I was too late to react. The worst of all was that there was a hole behind me. I fell backwards, on my back, into the depression.

"Mom! Help me!" I screamed and I could hear her sprinting in her shoes towards me. I imagined her hair swinging side to side as she ran. She looked radiant.

But as she became bigger in my vision, I could hear her shrieking and see her arms flailing in the air. That mid-air movement was scary and I watched as she became more afraid. She dropped down and landed beside me. Eyes closed.

Just then, I realized that that had just happened to me. To me! The impact of the explosion. I fell too...

Oh no. The letter. What had I done? Where were my dear friends now? Lia? Ronnie? Preston? That dirty blonde haired guy?

I reached my hand up and started to sob. I felt pain spreading through my body again. Weakness prisoning me. I could not do what I wanted to do anymore. I lost the control I had for my hand and it fell back onto the bed.

I opened my eyes to a white room. There was a table beside me. A mug was standing with plain water and a syringe inside it. There were also some food, nestled in a brown basket, lined with wax paper, on the table.

I could feel tubes poked into my hands, my forehead and leg bandaged, my ribcage bruised and I was unable to speak. What?

I tried to articulate something as simple as "Hello" and I couldn't. I tried again. What happened?

That's when the door opened.

A dirty blonde haired guy sauntered in and smiled widely. A "Brooklyn" cap was put over his head and he was wearing a long shirt with long pants. He placed his pullover at the top end of my pillow.

I tried to say "What are you doing here?" but failed. I could only hear the "Wha" sound coming out. My voice was hoarse.

He was the one whose car obstructed the traffic that day. Luckily, for me, my memory was not impaired after the explosion. That would be utterly devastating, for both me and my loved ones.

He sat down on a chair beside me and took out some white paper. He used a pen and began scribbling something down.

He turned it over and it read: Don't speak. You'll agitate your throat more.

He folded the piece of paper in half and handed both the writing materials to me carefully. It was folded in half to allow me to write easier-a harder base.

I tried to hold the pen but there was a invisible strength pushing me down. The invisible strength of sickness. I shook my head at him.

It was weird hearing someone who scolded you use such a comforting voice. "You have quite a lot of injuries. The other two of your friends got a little injured too. Preston's okay."

What have I done? Tears began to well in my eyes and I was crying softly the next heartbeat. Two of my best friends, who agreed to risk their lives for me, were physically harmed by the explosion in my locker.

If I had just followed the instructions of the letter, none of this would have happened. What else did the letter say? I knew it wanted me to meet someone somewhere. One week after the day I received the letter. At the East Subway. What's the time? I could not remember but it was in the morning.

I tried to speak again. "What's the date today?" Only the "Wha" sound came out again. I rolled my eyes.

I used all the strength I could muster to move my right hand and tapped on my left wrist.

"Watch?" The blonde interpreted my meaning. "Time."

I nodded my head, still sobbing a little.

"Don't worry about them. They're better now." He whispered into my ear and I felt his warm breath against me. He seemed so friendly towards me, as if we were friends. "It's Saturday, 8.36p.m. You've been out for six days now."

This meant that I had two more days to recover till I had to meet the mysterious person at the Subway. I would do it without fail. I absolutely did not want anyone to be injured due to my mistakes again.

The paper was still in my hands. I tried to write again. To concentrate on the task, I stopped sobbing. This time, I regained a little strength but my handwriting was still pretty incomprehensible. It looked like scratches from the nails of animals.

He took the paper from me once I was finished with my scrawl. I bit my lip. This was the worst handwriting I ever had.

Can I see them?

He smirked and said, "No. Not yet. If you're talking about your two friends. They can come here to visit you but you can't find them yourself."

I felt the urge to tell him their names but I recalled that I wasn't able to do so. He passed me the paper again.

What's your name?

He took a look. "Dalzel. You are Venessa right?"

I nodded tentatively, not sure if I wanted him to know my name.

Why are you here with me? I wrote again. I was surprised when I saw him instead of the people whom I were closer to in the hospital with me.

He gave a smug face. "The only people near you and were not seriously injured were me and Preston. Preston fled the scene as he was extremely horrified." He made a running motion using his arms. He looked so stupid while pretending to wipe sweat off his face. He had a blank face, looking straight at the ceiling in front of him.

I actually laughed because of him. The first time after the terrible incident.

He continued," Yeah, so I followed all of you to the hospital." He swallowed. "I'm a kind-hearted person." His lips turned up at the corners sarcastically and deliberately. He beat his hand on his chest twice. I giggled again.

On the spur of the moment, Dad walked in with his lips pursed, his forehead creased, expecting to see an unconscious me.

When he saw me, his face lit up and then looked back and forth between Dalzel and me.

I gave a shrug and reached up forcefully for my Dad. "Argh." I rubbed my ribcage. It was torture-these limited movements of mine.

Dad rushed towards me and hugged me tightly, careful not to move the clear tubes on my hands.

"I'll go and inform the nurse that you've woken up, Venessa." Dad said endearingly. "I'll come back very soon." He went out again.

I tried to stretch for the paper on Dalzel's lap. He playfully brought it further away from me. I made a pathetic expression on my face, like a puppy being beaten up.

He chuckled and gave it back.

My ribcage still aching, I shortened what I wanted to write next.

What we do now?

"I need to go somewhere. " He leaned closer to me and I closed my eyes. I thought he wanted to try something on me. We were only inches apart.

I felt my heart speeding up but when I opened my eyes, I could only see his green eyes looking back at my blue eyes. He's not doing it. I relaxed a little. There were a few seconds of silence between us and I liked it.

In a soft voice, he whispered, "I like watching you sleep." He smiled, grabbed his pullover from my pillow and stuck out his tongue. He had fine pearly white teeth below his full lips. "Bye!"

He ran out of the door.

I sucked in a deep breath of air. The pace of my heart returned to normal again. I hoped I would see him once more. He would make a nice friend.