( a bell rings. somewhere — far off. his mind strains to place the noise. a telephone, that's what it is. close enough to hear, but far off enough not to see. the ringing continues, incessantly. jesus christ. is someone calling? how long are they going to let it ring? will they ever answer or will he be forced to listen to the bell ring forever? he slips again. the ringing fades, as if echoing through an empty building miles away. when has it ever been quiet and empty enough for that? (when's what ever been quiet and empty? he asks himself. he doesn't know where that... instinctual thought came from, but there it is, bubbling to the surface.) with each ring, a sliver of fear pierces him. after an eternity, the ringing stops but that doesn't put him at ease.

something's wrong. he doesn't feel right.

his mind is fragmented — still reassembling. understandable. slowly then suddenly, at once his mind awakens. there was darkness, now there is light. the shock of consciousness sends a spasm through him and almost jolts his body from the bed. the final veil of fogginess lifts and his vision clears.

he's in a hospital. that much is clear from the machines and the overwhelming smell of disinfectant.

his gasps alerts the nursing staff, who immediately come to his side with soft touches and even softer words. he was in an accident — a very bad accident, but he shouldn't worry because he's fine now so there's no reason to worry. it's a phrase he quickly tires of. he should be worrying. he doesn't know his name or anything really. that's worrying enough as is but the doctors and nurses refusing to tell him his name is even more worrisome. it's not that they don't know, he thinks, it's more like they don't want him to know.

he wants to leave — leave this hospital and this town of wayward pines and never look back.

but he doesn't. he stays. not that he could leave anyways. the doctors and nurses seem to be keeping a close eye on him (paying him more attention than they do the other patients, he observes). he doesn't know where he'd go anyhow. being nameless, injured, with no money, and in a hospital dressing gown is no way to go through life. he stays at the hospital with the hope that he would learn his name in due time.

two days pass and he's nowhere nearer to uncovering his identity. what he does learn is: he has mustache and that, compared to some of the freakishly giant patients roaming the halls, he's not very tall. not that it matters very much because, as he and others soon realize, he makes up for his lack of stature by speaking very loudly and very often (a witty remark that's always uncalled for, a wink, and a smile, that's how he operates apparently). he's a short man with a very tall personality quickly getting on the staff and patients' nerves.

today, he's stolen a wheelchair and is currently wheeling himself through the halls, deftly navigating between the steady flow of patients entering the hospital. most of the staff members notice him, but, aside from a pointed but brief glare, they ignore him and leave him be. after two days with him, they've learned that he only feeds on the attention. )

( eventually, he leaves the hospital (although, the way he left, it appears more like he was kicked out). he's pointed towards the police department with the promise that he will find his belongings there. by his strange appearance, the residents shoot him bewildering and leery glances (especially after that strong gust of wind blows by him). the warmth of sunlight on his face and the coolness in the air is very refreshing and perks him up. after a (frankly) pleasant ten minute walk, he finally arrives at the police station.

the building is packed with people he recognizes from the hospital. he's told to wait in the waiting room and the sheriff would see him and return his belongings as soon as possible. above the dull roar of the crowded waiting room, he strains to remember what items he could have. he hopes it's some money, or food. the last meal he ate was earlier this morning at the hospital and he's starting to get a little peckish. )

( it takes almost an hour before he finally retrieves his belongings: a change of clothing, a notepad, and a gold pen. sadly though, no money or food. (he's also given the address to his house but he's more concerned with finding food first). by the time he's changed and leaving the police station, his stomach is growling loudly from hunger. as he wanders through the town and observes the comings and goings of the residents, he spots a snack vending machine outside french's general store. logic dictates that if one wants a service or item, they are expected to give a service or item of equal value in return. that's how capitalism works.

that's not the conclusion his brain reaches though. he deduces that snacks are received not with money, but with violently shaking and pushing the vending machine around for several minutes. eventually, something will come out, right? or will the sheriff stop by before then? )

( hit him with your best shot. )