Sophia

Sophia: It's almost noon. The dull light of a dreary day shines through the window, illuminating the room. The room is rather plain and unadorned, with a bland beige wall and a cold tile floor. A small bed sits in the middle of the room, covered with a blue blanket and a single pillow. A few cabinets are scattered about, and a small TV hangs in the corner of the ceiling. A woman in a wheelchair sits in front of a window, her head tilted downward, emptily gazing at the floor. Her ragged body is covered in bandages, and, most notably, her legs appear to be missing.

Interviewer: "Ma'am, what is your name?"

Sophia: The woman doesn't seem to react at first. But after a minute, she slowly reaches down to grasp the handles of her wheelchair. She clumsily turns the wheels, spinning herself to face the center of the room. Without looking up from the floor, she speaks in a weak, raspy voice, as bleak and dreary as today's weather: "My...my name? S-Sophia...I think. But...I can't remember anything else." Her voice is that of utter hopelessness.

Interviewer: "What do you mean you can't remember anything else?"

Sophia: After a brief pause, a low murmur escapes her lip: "I...I don't know...anything."

Interviewer: "What do you mean you don't know anything?"

Sophia: Sophia finally lifts her head. She appears to only have one working eye, with the other wrapped in a bandage across her face. With a lightly annoyed tone, she repeats herself: "I don't know anything. Don't remember anything. Don't remember my birthday. Don't remember my home. Don't remember my parents...my friends...my life. It's just...nothingness. Nothing. Except...my name."

Interviewer: "Well...can you tell me today's date?"

Sophia: Sophia responds curtly: "No."

Interviewer: "How old are you?"

Sophia: Again, Sophia responds bluntly, this time with a little more irritation than before: "I. Don't. Know."

Interviewer: "Alright, can you describe your appearance to me?"

Sophia: "No!" Sophia screeches, her face turning red with frustration. But after a few seconds, she appears to realize that this is a question she can actually answer. Her angry gaze softens, and she sheepishly averts her gaze: "Wait...I...I can do that. But...I...haven't looked at myself yet. Too scared."

Interviewer: "Look in that mirror over there, and describe your appearance to me."

Sophia: Sophia sighs and slowly wheels herself over in front of the large mirror, though her eye stays glued to the ground. She takes a deep breath and corrects her posture, as if preparing herself to get photographed. After getting into position, she opens her eye. Her expression turns into a look of horror as she gazes upon her broken body. But still, there's also a hint of curiosity and fascination: "I'm a...white woman. Late 20's...maybe. Pale skin. Normal size breasts. Brown hair. Long. Messy. Slender Figure. Thin. Emaciated. Weak." She reaches out a hand to touch the mirror, as if she were trying to connect with the woman she sees before her: "Wearing a pink gown. It's...Cute. And...there are bandages. Bandages everywhere. Right eye. Left arm. And on my...my..." Sophia averts her gaze from the mirror, emotions catching in her throat. Her voice trembles, and it's clear that she doesn't want to say the next line: "...my...leg stumps. B-Both legs are...amputated...above the knee."

Interviewer: "And how did you lose your legs?"

Sophia: Sophia places her hands over her leg stumps, wincing as she rubs the bandages that contain her tender flesh: "Don't...know. Don't remember. Probably...car crash...or...other accident."

Interviewer: "I can see you have other injuries. Please describe them to me."

Sophia: Sophia uses her hands to gently explore her own body. She starts by lifting her bangs, exposing the bandages covering her right eye. "Right eye is gone. Feels...empty." She then brushes the bandages on her left arm, maybe testing to see if it will cause any pain. "My left arm...just has a few scratches. Feels ok."

Interviewer: "Is it hard to see with only one eye?"

Sophia: Sophia lifts her hand in front of her face. Her eye stays fixed on it as she moves it back and forth and side to side: "It's all...flat. Disorienting. Lifeless."

Interviewer: "Alright, now for some questions about yourself. Do you have any hobbies or interests?"

Sophia: Her gaze lingers on the mirror one last time before she wheels herself back to her original position near the window. "Hobbies...Interests...I don't know. Can't remember."

Interviewer: "So, what emotions are you feeling right now?"

Sophia: "Fear. Paranoia. Dread. Loneliness. Sadness. Emptiness. Hopelessness. I want to cry..."

Interviewer: "What do you desire the most right now."

Sophia: Sophia answers without hesitation: "A...warm bath. A hug. And...to see a familiar face. To hear a familiar voice. To recognize someone. Anyone..." Her voice warbles, and a teardrop begins to form in her eye. She wipes the tear from her eye and takes a deep breath to compose herself.

Interviewer: "So...apart from your name, do you really not remember a single thing about your past?"

Sophia: "N-N-No. I...I told you. No. Please...just stop asking about it."

Interviewer: "Really? Not a single thing?"

Sophia: Sophia clenches her hand into a fist, clearly frustrated at the repeated question. With a sudden burst of anger, she cries as loud as she can: "No! I don't know anyone...I don't know anything...I don't know a thing about my past! I don't remember a single FUCKING thing!" Sophia slams her hand against the wheelchair, causing her to wince in pain. A metallic droning noise fills the room, the sound of the wheelchair vibrating from the hit. Once the sound fades, Sophia turns her wheelchair back to face the window. "Now please...just...leave me alone..."