Kindness in the Wastelands

Have you ever heard someone talk about dying? I mean, you hear it all the time, the same thing, time after time. “A long tunnel, with a light at the end.” Well, as it turned out, they were right. All I saw was light, and I moved towards it. I was ready to accept the end.

But sometimes, when you walk into the light, seeking eternity. You find the starting gun.

I groaned, my eyes screaming in pain, demanding I shut my eyes to block out the searing pain. I swore, my hand coming up to my eyes to block the offending brightness. I said something color involving fire and whatever God was responsible for light…or eyes…or life. In my ears, I heard a soft whirring, and opened my eyes again to see the light dimming, revealing a ceiling fan, spinning softly, spreading the air around the room.

“Hell seems… well ventilated…” I groaned. I heard a soft chuckle in response.

“You’re awake…How ‘bout that?” Even in my current state, I could tell he sounded surprised, and slightly amused. Still, it was a voice I didn’t recognize. I launched my body upwards as fast as I could manage, which was, humiliatingly, roughly the speed of an old woman with two broken arms, and reached to my hip in an act that sent my temples screaming in response, and my vision blurring in pain. The blur of blue and black leaned in, helping keep me from tumbling off the, admittedly uncomfortable bed.

“Whoaaa, easy there! Easy! You’ve been out could a couple of days now…” Slowly, my vision came back to me, sharpening the blob of color into what looked like an older man, looking at me with concern.

“Why don’t you just relax a second, get your bearings? Let’s see what the damage is…” He said, leaning back and looking me over. When I stared at him blankly, he offered a small smile. “How ‘bout your name? Can you tell me your name?”

Again, my temples screamed in pain as I thought about his question. Bringing my hand to my forehead to rub the pain away, I felt a strange mass under my fingers on my right temple. It felt…unfamiliar. My mind was cloudy, and I realized suddenly, I had no idea! My own name was a complete mystery! All I could remember was being on my knees, and the familiar loud flash of a gunshot, held by a man that I didn’t recognize, but I knew I hated. He…He shot me in the head!? Trying to rise again, I winced as my body resisted, and sent the old man leaning in to help me.

“I-..” I started, not sure how to continue. “I should be dead! I got-“

“Easy there…” He said again. “You’re fine. Listen now: Yes, you did get shot, but you’re gonna be ok. It WAS touch and go there for a minute though…But c’mon, focus. Can you remember your name?” The more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn’t. And yet, there was a name…something that…felt familiar, but I KNEW it wasn’t my name.

“L-…Lee.” I told him, hoping how unsure I was of my own name didn’t shine through.

“Huh…Well, can’t say that’s what I’da picked for you, but if that’s your name, that’s your name. I’m Doc Mitchell. Welcome to GoodSprings. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go rootin’ around in your noggin to get all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needle work, but you’d better tell me if I left anything out of place.” He said, leaning down to pick up a reflectron. “How’d I do?” He asked, handing me the over-complicated mirror.

Sure enough, as I gazed at my reflection, I had no idea if he had left me the same or not. However, I knew there was ONE thing out of place. The weathered, face looking back at me, with eyes younger than the (what I’d like to say is ruggedly handsome) face that hinted at his rough life sported one thing that I highly doubted was there before. I couldn’t tell if the dark soul patch on my chin was right, but on my right temple, where I’d felt that strange mass, lay a mass of scar tissue, centered around a small, round scar. That had to have been the entrance wound. I shuddered at the amount of stimpacks it must’ve taken to close that up so quick, and to leave a scar like that. I shrugged handing the man the mirror back.

“Looks good to me…” I told him.

“Well, I got most of it right, anyways. Stuff that mattered. Ok, no sense keeping you in bed anymore…” He said, starting to stand. Coming to me, he put his hand under my arms. “Let’s see if we can get you on your feet.” I accepted his help, slowly standing. Again, my head threw a fit, refusing to let me stand without a fight. My vision blurred in pain again, but at least it wasn’t as severe. Biting my lip, and with the old m- the doc’s help, I got to my feet, stumbling a little under my own weight. Finally, I found my balance, standing on my own feet. Doc smiled. “Good! Now, why don’t you walk down to the end of the room?” He asked, presumably as a test. Nodding his head towards a strange wooden machine in the corner of the room. “Over by that vigor tester machine there…” I immediately started to move, trying to head to the weird machine. Stumbling again, the old man caught me. “Take it slow now, it ain’t a race…”  I wanted to ignore him, to rush strait to the thing, but my body made me listen, refusing to move more than a snail’s clip, as we made our way over to the machine.

The Vit-o-matic vigor tester, the box displayed, in big bronze letters over the top. It boasted a handle, and a rotating board, guaranteeing it was Fun! Accurate! And Scientific!

“Well, you’re looking good so far.” I heard Doc mumble. “Go ahead and give the vigor tester a try. We’ll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties.”

With a shrug, I took the strange handle and squeezed. S.P.E.C.I.A.L., It said. Meaning Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, and Luck. I had NO idea how this machine could gauge all this from a squeeze of a wooden handle, but, hey, I figured I had done worse things in my life. Probably. As the machine worked, I tried seeking through my memories, desperately trying to figure out who I was, in every sense of the word. A happy tone jingled, telling me the machine was done ‘reading my vigor.’ It claimed I was strong as a barrel chested man, perceptive as a wary trout, I had hardy endurance, I was charismatic as a substitute teacher (something I still don’t know if I should be offended at), I had gifted intelligence and catlike reflexes, and I was as lucky as a stacked deck. Stacked in whose favor, I didn’t know, as getting shot in the head hardly seemed very lucky. But, Doc looked over my shoulder, nodding to himself.

“Welp, that’s a pretty standard score there, but after what you’ve been through, I’d say that’s great news.” He crossed his arms and looked at me for a moment before nodding.  “Well, we know your vitals are good. But that don’t mean those bullets didn’t leave you nuttier than a bighorner dropping.” He said, starting to walk into the next room. “What do you say you take a seat on my couch and we go through a couple questions? See if your dogs are still barking.” He asked, taking a seat on a chair facing the sofa. Did he plan this?

“Didn’t know any shrinks survived the war…” The old man chuckled.

“Well, I’m not an official head doctor, but I’m not an official brain surgeon either, but I think that came out just fine, don’t you?” He asked, smiling. “Now go on, take a seat.”