Golden Age, Episode 8, Part 2
People always talk about where they were when they first heard about The Correspondent. She came out of nowhere and tried to make a difference. Some saw her as a beacon of hope, others as a sign of how far down the slope we had come. I never paid attention to all of that. I was too busy. Too busy working to pay my bills, too busy trying to figure out life. I was seventeen when it started. I was The Correspondent. This is my story.
Waking up in an ambulance was weird. And it got weirder when I realized that I was naked. I looked around, realized that I couldn’t move my head and started to thrash. Through the limited vision I had I saw an EMT. His head appeared directly above me.
“She’s alive,” he yelled, turning his head towards the front of the ambulance.
“Good,” a gruff voice said.
The EMT turned his focus to me, shining a flashlight in my eyes, asking me to follow them. As I tried to follow the light, I focused on my body. I knew that there should be pain somewhere. I focused on the lack of pain and felt it hiding behind a curtain in my mind. It was a wet blanket covering the pain. I felt surprisingly good.
I started to think about what had happened. There was something important I needed to remember. Something had happened at the crash site. I couldn’t place it, my mind felt fuzzy when I thought back to the crash, part of my memory was gone. And the part that was gone was important.
The EMT seemed satisfied with his battery of tests and turned to his clipboard writing down his notes about me. Words stumbled out of my mouth, feeling slurred and uncoordinated.
“What happen?” I asked.
“It looks like you were being stupid on your scooter and wrapped it and yourself around a tree. You are lucky to be alive.”
He turned away from me, checking the IV bag hanging about me.
“We had to cut it off of you. I have never seen a suit armored that way before. It was preventing us from checking your injuries. Whatever you paid for it was worth it, it saved your life.” He motioned at my head before continuing, “Next time wear a helmet. I don’t know how you survived without one.”
My suit was cut open. That meant it was done with. And my mask must have been removed. Who removed it? I couldn’t figure it out. I remembered the chase and my scooter being out matched by the two henchmen. I remembered knowing I was going to crash, but I couldn’t figure out what happened after that.
I was trapped by my own mind. Immobilized on the stretcher and immobilized by the blank spaces in my memory. How was I going to get through the fog in my mind?
It hit me a few minutes later. I could no longer be The Correspondent. I had no equipment and no way of getting new stuff. Maybe it was time to hang up the cowl and all it good. There had to be easier things to do than be a superhero.
I let the sound of the sirens lull me to sleep. Anything to stop pounding my head against the invisible wall blocking my memories. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed. My mom was going to be so pissed.
Dylan Reed has always been interested in a good story. Raised without a TV he spent a lot of time with books and loves reading. Dylan has been a professional entertainer, studied commercial diving, and loves random trivia. He brings all of this and more together in his stories.