An Anti Fairy Tale Chapter Two

Author's note: I'm going to stir things up a bit from here on. There's going to be a few new characters, and the story is going to start showing different points of view. The points of view are also in different times, so make sure you pay attention. The time line gets a little complicated. I hope you enjoy it.


I stood at the foot of the bed and glanced at the chart. No change. Of course, that's just what I expected. The girl had been here for ten years now, and she hadn't shown the slightest sign of being any closer to waking up. I couldn't figure out why she wouldn't wake up. She had the brainwaves of someone somewhere between regular sleep, and comatose, but she hadn't so much as twitched since I'd been assigned to her care. My traditional white coat flapped against my chest as I sat down in the chair next to her. I checked the IV, then took her blood pressure. The machines were showing her blood rate was normal.

I looked down at her. I didn't know her name. She was a small butterfly hybrid, with red-orange wings, and long red hair. I had been working in the emergency ward when she was rushed in. The back of her head was a mess of gore. I remember being amazed she wasn't already dead, and I was convinced she had minutes left to live. The head surgeon was rushed to the hospital and operated on her for 9 hours straight.

At the end she was placed into the ICU ward, and kept under constant watch for the first few weeks. It was a miracle that she survived. The fact that she had any brain activity at all, let alone almost complete brain activity, was a mystery that stumped everybody. I mean, she'd had the entire back of her skull crushed inwards. The surgeon removed more than thirty shards of bone from her brain. She had received a backplate on her skull after it was determined that she wasn't brain-dead. By any medical standards, she should be dead.

I looked down at her and sighed. I always checked on her at the beginning and end of every shift, and it always made me a little depressed. "Goodnight." I said to her, and turned to go home. My shift was over, and I was waiting to get home to my fiance. There was a flutter on the heart monitor.

I turned and went back to the machine, thinking there was a blip in the cable. There was another flutter, accompanied by a spike on the brainwave monitor. I frowned and checked the girl. There didn't seem to be any changes. There was another spike, followed by a third.

I hit the intercom and spoke quickly into the mike. "Hospital administrator to room 214. Hospital administrator to room 214."

I turned back to the girl. Her brain wave monitor started spiking again, and she shifted slightly. Her eyelids fluttered once or twice, and then opened.

I stood over her. She looked up at me and moaned. I cleared my throat. And hesitated. This was the first time she'd been awake in ten years. What was I going to say to her. I came to a decision and knelt down so our faces were closer.

"Hi." I said. "How are you feeling?" She groaned and whispered.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I asked.

"Where am I?" she asked. Her voice was scratchy and quiet.

"You're in the hospital."

"What happened?" she whispered.

I hesitated again. This was the part of my job I hated the most. Breaking the bad news.

"You were in a coma." I said as gently as I could. Her eyes widened and tears started to form.

"How long?"

I hesitated once more. I felt so bad for her, I didn't want to tell her anything that would make her any more upset.

"How long?" she insisted.

"Ten years."

She gasped a little, then her eyes started to droop again. The effort of waking up and talking was too much for her. Without saying anything else, she relaxed again and was asleep. I checked her vitals and confirmed she was only sleeping, she didn't go back into the coma. I hit the intercom again and summoned the nurses.

JOHN SAVAGE-past: year 2062

I sat on my bed, in total shock. Both of my sons were lost to me. I lost Daniel four years ago, and his death ruined my life in more ways than one. I knew it was selfish of me, but the fact that his death ended my career was harder to me than his death itself. If he had died, but I wasn't injured, I could have put myself into the game to take my mind off the pain. If I'd been fired but he had lived, I could have poured myself into my family. I honestly wished that Adam had died, and not Daniel. Daniel was the one who wanted to follow in my footsteps. Daniel was the good son. He was the one who did what he was told, when he was told to. But Adam. Adam was a big disappointment. He had the size and stature to make a good man. But he insisted on his technology classes and nerdy friends. He only played on the team to please me, I knew. He needed to play the sport for the sport's sake, not for mine. If he at least played it for himself, I'd have been fine.

My wife took Daniel's death as hard as I did, but she took my injury much harder than anything else. It seemed to destroy her spirit. I had always known there was a sarcastic cynic inside of my wife, but that side of her had become much more prevalent since Daniel's funeral.

I thought back to when I had met her. We'd met in college while I was on the football squad. I was, of course, the star quarterback for the college team. She'd been the head cheerleader. They said it was a match made in heaven, and no one was surprised when I married her right after college, when I was picked up by the NFL in no time.

My reminiscing was cut short by the sound of the garage door opening and the van being driven away. I sighed and packed my files together. I began reading over the papers for the new insurance claim against my lot. Some bum had rolled one of my cars and was badly injured, so he decided to sue me for damages. The man had been speeding on the highway on a rainy day, and it was somehow my fault for selling him the car. I put my thought aside and got to work.


I was really worried. My best friend Adam was going through MORFS, and I hadn't seen or spoken to him in almost a week. I hoped he was okay. It started to get difficult for me to concentrate in school, and my grades, I'm sure, suffered from it. I tried calling his house, but no one answered.

This isn't like the Savages, I thought to myself. I went through my options. I could go over and visit, and hope that his parents would let me see him. I could just wait it out.

"I just wish I knew how he was doing." I muttered.

There was a knock on the classroom door. My science teacher hurried over and let in Ms. Carter, the school secretary. She rushed over to him, and began whispering. Something was wrong. I perked up when I heard both my name, and Adam's. The teacher turned to me and said, "Mr. Stevenson, come with me."

I got up from my desk and followed him out of the class to the main office, where I was met with the principal. He had a grave look on his face that made me shiver.

"What's wrong, sir?" I asked. Me and Adam had gotten into a lot of trouble over the last few years, and we weren't on very good terms with him.

"I received word this morning from Mrs. Savage. There was a car accident last night. Adam died."

"What?" I said, shocked. "How? What happened?"

He shook his head sadly. "The car was hit by another vehicle, possibly a van or truck, on the passenger side. Mrs. Savage was ejected from the vehicle, but Adam didn't make it."

"How is Mrs. Savage?"

"She's alive. Bruised, but otherwise unharmed."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Greg, if you need to talk to anybody, I have the number of a very good psychologist...."

I turned and walked out of the office. I left the school and started walking down the path that me and Adam always took to get to our streets. My mind was buzzing. A week ago, I had been helping him out of the locker room, and now he was dead. I spat bitterly on the ground. This wasn't fair.

I realized I was at Adam's house. Without thinking, I had walked there on auto-pilot. I rang the doorbell. A few moments went by, and Adam's father opened the door. He looked like he'd been crying. His eyes were red, and when he spoke, his voice was scratchy.

"What do you want, Greg?" he snapped.

"Are you okay, Mr. Savage?" I asked.

"I'm fiine, Greg. What do you need?"

"I, um, wanted to know when the funeral will be." I stared at my feet, trying hard to keep from crying. I looked up and saw Mr. Savage's eyes start to tear up.

"The funeral will be tomorrow." he whispered. "Now please leave." he closed the door. I heard a thump on the other side of the door, then a wracking sob. It sounded like he had fallen against the door.

I sighed, and walked away. I didn't hear Mr. Savage heave himself up from the floor, and walk into his bedroom. I didn't see him pull out the pistol he kept in a hidden drawer. But I did hear the gunshot as I was walking down the driveway.

Recognising the sound, I ran back up to the door. It was locked. I put my ear to the door and listened. There was no sounds from inside.

"Mr. Savage!" I shouted. I beat my hand on the door. "Mr. Savage, open the door!" There was no answer.

I backed up the front steps and ran at the door, ramming it. All I succeeded in doing was bruising my shoulder. I backed up and kicked the door as hard as I could. There was a resounding crack as both the door and my leg broke. The door smashed to the floor as I clutched my leg, screaming. A few seconds later I remembered why I had kicked the door in, and I limped upstairs.

"Mr. Savage? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" I yelled. I got to the top of the stairs, and my gut dropped. The master bedroom door was open, and I could see...

I clapped my hands over my mouth. Mr. Savage was leaning back in a chair in front of his computer. The gun lying on the floor next to his limp fingers was still smoking. I turned away and vomited all over the floor. There was a spray of blood and brains all over the wall behind Mr. Savage.

As soon as I could, I gathered myself together and called 911.

BRAD GARRISON-Present: year 2072

“Tell me exactly what happened.”


I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. There was no stimulus for her to regain consciousness. It just doesn’t make sense.”


“Brad, you were there when she woke up. Are you telling me that one moment, there were no changes whatsoever, and the next moment, a ten-year coma patient just woke up and asked what the time was? Isn’t it more likely that you missed something.”


My supervisor leaned forwards in her chair, frowning. She would have been very pretty were it not for the scowl she always had plastered on her face. I knew that was because I was in her office. Normally, she was a very pleasant woman, or so I’d been told. I certainly have never seen that side of her.


My glistening bronze skin does put some people off when they see me, but I suppose it could have been worse. I could have ended up with mandibles sprouting from my face. You see, I am a cockroach hybrid. I have very tough skin in that unique shade of a cockroach’s exoskeleton. I was also lucky, since I’d been a very dark black to begin with, so some people never even noticed I’d MORFed. I was required to inform my supervisors when I started working as a doctor, though.


It was precisely because of this that I felt a strong connection with this girl. I was an insect hybrid, and so was she.


My Supervisor dismissed me after another thirty minutes worth of pointless questioning. I groaned to myself as I left her office. If I wasn’t such a connected person, and a renowned surgeon to boot, she’d fire me in an instant.


I was relieved to see that the girl was still sleeping when I got back to her room. I sat down on the visitor’s chair next to her. Of course, the irony that her only visitor in ten years was her doctor didn’t escape me.


The girl moaned in her sleep and shifted slightly. I frowned slightly as I thought to myself, who is she? Not one person had come forward to claim her, and she was the only person, alive or dead, that was brought in from whatever accident or incident that had injured her. In addition to her head wound, she had small but deep scratches around her body, indicative or her being in a car collision. There was no I.D., which wasn’t surprising considering she wasn’t wearing any pants. At first, it was thought that she was sexually assaulted, but the rape kit came up negative. In fact, she was still a virgin. Her hymen was still there.


I was jerked out of my thoughts by a loud snore. I glanced over to the bed and was rather shocked by the sight of the petite woman laying with her mouth wide open and a loud, grating snore pouring out. I was so startled by this strange sight that I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. She shifted slightly and muttered softly. I reached over and pulled her blanket up to her chin.


“Sleep well.” I whispered.

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