InsaneJournal

As busy as the hospital always was, it also seemed to be one of the loneliest places one could be. And to be perfectly honest, Corporal Robert Langston was ready to leave. It had been two months since he'd woken up in that hospital bed, nurses flitting back and forth as the moved from patient to patient. And in that two months, he'd been disappointed to find that he couldn't remember anything about himself. Oh, he knew his name-- at least, what they had told him his name was. But it didn't seem to ring any bells; it seemed as though no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't remember anything. It was all shadows and figures, and every time he tried to reach out he was met with nothing but dust slipping through his fingertips.

And now he was to be released. The afternoon found him sitting on the edge of his bed, completely dressed except for the buttons on his shirt. He had no home left to go to, no family waiting for him-- he knew that even without the Army telling him so. He wasn't sure how he knew, especially since he couldn't remember any family or what might have happened to them, but somehow he did. So he was to go home with Nurse Reyes, which seemed perhaps unconventional (did nurses often take their patients home to live with them upon departure from the hospital?) but even Robert had to admit that he was somewhat intrigued by the idea. His bag was packed, perched on the end of the bed and on top, the envelope with his honorable discharge, and a small box containing three medals- a service medal, for participating in the Asiatic-Pacific campaign; the Purple Heart, which most in this department of the hospital would be getting at some point or another; and a Silver Star, for "extraordinary gallantry in action"-- Robert didn't remember such gallantry, nor was he entirely sure that he cared to.

Now he just needed to wait. Well, perhaps he needed to button his shirt, but he wasn't sure that he would be able to do that for a few more minutes. He'd gotten dressed on his own, but as he was pulling his shirt on, his fingers had stiffened up, rendering his hand practically useless for the time being. He sighed, his good hand moving up to rake his fingers through his hair. He didn't know what to expect. He just wished that he could remember. Something, anything- more than just the bare whisper of a feeling. Something to fill the empty space inside of him, to make him feel whole again. Because physically, he was. He would, perhaps, always walk with a limp, and the scars on his head and back would never completely fade, and no matter how others might treat him like a child, his mind didn't seem to be affected except for the memory loss. But he still felt like something was missing, and he could do nothing but pray that one day he'd be able to figure it out.