(no subject)
He had been at Isabel's hut four days now. Peter wasn't any closer to remembering anything about his life than he was at the moment Isabel had found him wandering in the jungle. It was incredibly frustrating to not remember who he was, who he had been. Isabel tried to help him as best she could, but to no avail. Memories simply weren't coming, no matter how had Peter and Isabel worked at his regaining them.
Some people probably would have relished the chance to get a new start, but not Peter. Not having an identity was having an incredibly negative effect on him. He felt hollow inside, as though there was a huge gaping hole that had formed and he didn't know how to fill it again.
Standing in front of Isabel's mirror, Peter's eyes immediately focused on the gash at his hairline. The black thread of the stitches stood out against the yellowing bump. Higher up his eyes rose to where there had once been fringe. Yesterday, at his request, Isabel had cut his hair rather short. A lot of the back had been badly singed for some reason. Isabel had told him his hair had been that way when she'd found him.
He'd taken his medication that morning and was now feeling restless. Isabel had gone off earlier for breakfast. She had offered to bring him something back as she had been doing ever since he came to her hut, but today Peter decided he wanted to go to the compound building himself. She'd told him where it was and to follow the path, so Peter figured he could handle it.
Walking along the path, passing Dr. Garrigan's hut and a few others, Peter tried like hell to jog his memory, just as he had for every single moment since he woke up to Dr. Garrigan's questions.
Some people probably would have relished the chance to get a new start, but not Peter. Not having an identity was having an incredibly negative effect on him. He felt hollow inside, as though there was a huge gaping hole that had formed and he didn't know how to fill it again.
Standing in front of Isabel's mirror, Peter's eyes immediately focused on the gash at his hairline. The black thread of the stitches stood out against the yellowing bump. Higher up his eyes rose to where there had once been fringe. Yesterday, at his request, Isabel had cut his hair rather short. A lot of the back had been badly singed for some reason. Isabel had told him his hair had been that way when she'd found him.
He'd taken his medication that morning and was now feeling restless. Isabel had gone off earlier for breakfast. She had offered to bring him something back as she had been doing ever since he came to her hut, but today Peter decided he wanted to go to the compound building himself. She'd told him where it was and to follow the path, so Peter figured he could handle it.
Walking along the path, passing Dr. Garrigan's hut and a few others, Peter tried like hell to jog his memory, just as he had for every single moment since he woke up to Dr. Garrigan's questions.