Scar Tissue

When Ash awoke he was in a darkened room, illuminated only by a dim lamp on the bedside table. He looked at the clock and it said 1:15. Judging from the light, or lack thereof, it was in the morning. He looked around to try and get a feel for where he was. On the bedside table he saw a couple scraps of paper, a clock, a framed picture of a guy with black spiky hair and a hat, a girl with red hair, a little yellow mouse thing, and a guy with brown spiky hair and slanted eyes. He recognized all of them, but could only place the girl with Red hair. He searched the rest of the tabletop and saw a watch, a little book that turned out to be a day-planner, and an envelope. He turned the lamp up and snatched up the envelope and opened it. Inside were a letter and a Polaroid picture. The picture was of the guy with spiky hair and the hat from the picture, but the hair was shorter, almost a buzz-cut, the hat was gone, and he looked much older and he had a scar that went from his earlobe, jutted up and disappeared into his hairline. Whereas the person in the framed picture looked about 17, and seemed happy in the picture, the person in the Polaroid looked to be at least 10 years older, and all the life seemed to be drained out of him. On the back of the picture at the bottom was a message.

This is you. This is what he did to you. It said. He opened the letter and read it.

Hey, Ash. You recognize the handwriting, right? Ha, ha! If you can read this then you’re still stuck in that little room of yours, and you’re still a coward. The man who took 10 years from your life and killed her is out their free as a bird, and you’re just going to let it go. Well, maybe I should have had them write ‘he killed your girl and you’re doing nothing about it’ on your ceiling instead. At this, Ash looked at the ceiling and saw the sign. Well, I don’t know how many times you’ve read this, but you’ve been in that hospital for almost 11 years now, you’re 27. But you’d think you were a lot older from the look of you. You need to get out of that little room and get out there and find him. Maybe you were a forgiving person before your little ‘accident’, but how can you forgive someone if you can’t remember that you’ve forgiven them? How can you forgive and forget if you can’t remember to forget? Hopefully this will get through to you before you’ve wasted your life away in the little room they’ve given you and you can’t do anything. Ps. when you’ve read this and seen the picture, put them back in the envelope and back on your table.

“You’re gonna what?” Brock half asked, half yelled.

“Shhh! Keep it down, Brock, I don’t want her to hear.” Ash whispered.

“You’re going to ask her to marry you?! You’re not even 18 yet!”

“I don’t want to get married tomorrow, just…I don’t know…”

“Well, I do. At least wait. Look, I love the both of you, you’re like family, but I think asking her now is a bad idea.”

“Well…It’s-“ Ash began, but stopped suddenly when Misty walked into the room.