A young boy lay unconscious in a hospital bed, surrounded by a nest of wires and tubes.

  In the far corner of the quiet hospital room, a woman in her late thirties sat asleep with her back against the wall. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, as though bracing herself even in dreams.

  Beep… beep… beep…

  Machines beeped in rhythm with his heartbeat, each tone a reminder that he was still alive—barely.

  A soft groan broke the silence.

  “Uhh…”

  His lips parted, dry and cracked. His eyelids fluttered.

  Outside, a sudden gust of wind swept through the open window, causing the curtains to sway. The sound stirred the woman awake. She blinked in confusion for a moment—then turned her gaze to the bed.

  Another groan. A twitch of a finger.

  Then, the boy’s eyes opened.

  The ceiling lights were blinding. He squinted, groaning again as pain surged through his body—sharp, deep, and all-encompassing.

  ‘It hurts… My eyes… my arm… my leg…’

  The woman stumbled to her feet.

  “Matt!”

  Her voice cracked. Tears welled up in her eyes—equal parts grief and joy.

  “My boy, you’re awake!”

  She rushed to his bedside and pressed the call button with trembling hands.

  Moments later, a nurse burst into the room, stunned to see the boy conscious. She moved quickly to stabilize him as he thrashed weakly, trying to tear off the oxygen mask. His hand clutched at the tube down his throat, panic flashing in his eyes.

  “Easy! Easy, Matt!” the nurse said gently, helping remove the breathing aid. He coughed, rasping something unintelligible.

  “Is he alright?” the woman demanded—her voice loud, frantic.

  The nurse tried to soothe them both. “He’s okay, Jane. This is good. Him waking up… this is the best sign we could hope for.”

  But Jane—his mother—could barely contain herself. The sight of her son in pain, after all they’d lost, was unbearable.

  A week ago, that accident that had nearly taken Matt, didn’t fail to take her husband.

  Hours passed. When the doctor finally arrived, Matt had slipped back into unconsciousness.

  The nurse briefed him quickly.

  By evening, Matt woke again. This time, the doctor, nurse, and Jane were all present.

  “Matt?” Jane asked softly.

  The boy’s gaze drifted toward the voice. He saw a pale, tired woman with dark circles under her eyes… and something familiar in her face.

  The doctor stepped in gently. “Hey, young man. Can you hear us? Nod if you can.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Matt nodded slowly.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “…Hospital?” he croaked, uncertain.

  “Good. Do you know why?”

  Matt furrowed his brow. A sharp ache pulsed through his head.

  “…No.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Silence.

  Matt blinked. A wave of confusion settled in. He shook his head.

  Jane let out a quiet sob.

  The doctor continued calmly, “Do you recognize this lady?”

  Matt turned toward Jane again. He stared at her face. He felt… something. Warmth. Safety. But no name. No memory.

  “No,” he whispered.

  The doctor placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. You’ve been through a lot. We’ll help you recover. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

  He handed the nurse some forms and left with a nod. Jane stayed by Matt’s side, brushing his hair from his forehead as he slowly closed his eyes again.

  ‘Who am I?’

  ’What’s my name?’

  ’What happened to me?’

  ‘Why does it hurt so much?’

  ’At least… I escaped the math quiz…’

  ‘Wait. What?’

  ‘Math quiz? Where did that come from?’

  His thoughts blurred. Sleep pulled him under again.

  His dreams were strange and vivid—fragments of people he didn’t remember, flashes of family he couldn’t name, and a faint whisper from the shadows.

  The next morning, Jane awoke and immediately checked on her son. Watching him breathe easily in his sleep, she let out a long sigh of relief. The doctor had informed her that Matt was suffering from amnesia — no brain injuries were found, thankfully. The memory loss was likely a result of emotional trauma. That made sense, considering what he had gone through. And so she waited patiently for her only child to wake up again.

  It wasn’t until evening that the doctor returned — and this time, he wasn’t alone. Matt had just woken up when they arrived. Accompanying the doctor was a well-built man in his late twenties, dressed in a police uniform with a trimmed mustache, and a woman in a tailored pantsuit, wearing sharp spectacles and carrying a sleek tablet.

  Trailing behind them waddled something pink and familiar.

  “Huh? Is that a Chansey?” Matt asked curiously, blinking at the egg-carrying Pokémon.

  “That’s right, Matt,” the doctor replied with a warm chuckle. So, he recognizes Pokémon, he noted mentally.

  The police officer had come to collect a statement, since Matt had been involved in the mining accident that tragically claimed the life of another — his father. But hearing about Matt’s memory loss, the officer exchanged a helpless glance with the doctor. The situation had taken an unfortunate turn.

  The woman beside him, the insurance investigator, remained silent out of respect for the grieving family. Jane, having heard all kinds of horror stories about claims being denied on technicalities, eyed the woman with understandable suspicion.

  Noticing her gaze, the woman offered a gentle smile and spoke. “It’s alright, Jane. You don’t need to worry. The case is clear. A wild, agitated Onix tunneled into a newly carved section of the mine. There were multiple witnesses. This visit is just a formality.”

  Relief washed over Jane’s face. She knew her modest salary could never cover the hospital bills without the insurance.

  With that, the officer and investigator took their leave, leaving behind only Jane, the doctor, and a still-curious Matt, who continued staring wide-eyed at Chansey.

  It’s a real Pokémon! Pink, plump, carrying an egg — just like in the Pokédex, Matt thought, still captivated.

  “Matt, it’s not polite to stare,” Jane chided gently.

  He gave an awkward smile and nodded at Chansey. “Sorry about that.”

  The doctor stepped forward with a pen and paper. “Matt, could you try signing your name here?”

  Matt reached with his uninjured hand and scribbled confidently. The doctor glanced at the paper — and froze.

  “What language is this?” he muttered, puzzled.

  Jane leaned in as he turned the paper toward her.

  Matt looked too. The letters were jagged, strangely unfamiliar. Yet, as if by instinct, he read aloud:

  “Thomas Joe.”

  Thomas Joe? I thought my name was Matt…

  What is wrong with my brain?

  A new flurry of questions followed — some answered, most not. It became clear that Matt wasn’t just forgetting things. He mixed up letters while writing. Sometimes he wrote in a strange script no one could recognize. He had trouble recalling basic history… but curiously, he knew more about Pokémon than the average kid his age — their behaviors, evolutions, even obscure battle techniques.

  The doctor frowned thoughtfully. “We’ll need to build a comprehensive treatment plan for your memory, Matt. Your body will need a couple of months to fully heal, and that’s time we can use to help your mind recover too.”

  Jane brought in his old schoolbooks — language, history, geography. Over the next two months, Matt recovered physically at an impressive pace. He also made steady progress with his memory.

  But what troubled him most was what he did begin to remember — or thought he did.

  Not one life… but two.

  He recalled schoolteachers he’d never met. Cities that didn’t exist on any map. Pokémon he had no name for — but knew. And sometimes, he dreamed of being someone else entirely. A different world. A different boy.