That was the first thought that stumbled through his mind as he opened his eyes. It staggered around his brain in search for something to connect to.
Blinding.
It really was bright.
Light.
Blinding light.
He closed his eyes again, wondering why there was a blinding light shining onto his face.
He went back to sleep.
...
"Synth paste?" he asked the nurse as she placed the tablet with his meal on it on the small, round table beside his bed.
"Doctor's orders," she replied with a smile. "He says you strain your organs after such a long time living off of infusions." With a small bow she left the room again, leaving him alone with his "food." A year of being unconscious and they welcome me back with this crap, he thought to himself. He looked at the food. Grimacing with disgust, he averted his gaze and looked back out of the window by his bed at a sea of neon light outside.
"Careful now," the doctor said as he helped him to sit up in bed. He was dizzy, and the effort made him feel slightly nauseous. But the doctor held on to his shoulder, balancing him.
"Now your legs, slowly," the doctor pulled back the blanket that still covered him. Slowly, he swung his legs out to the side over the edge of his bed. Carefully, as if he had a reason to be afraid of the floor, he lowered his feet onto it.
"Very good!" The doctor smiled at him. The nurse, who was standing a few feet away clapped. "Now, let's try to get up shall we?"
He sighed.
"No need to talk to me like I'm mentally handicapped, doctor," he muttered. The doctor's smile faded.
Cautiously, he pushed his hands into his bed's mattress, pushing his body up and forwards off the bed. His legs began to shake under the unaccustomed pressure of his weight. His nausea intensified as he put more and more weight from his arms onto his legs.
The nurse looked at him worriedly. The doctor's smile had returned and he placed a hand on his back to steady him. Finally, he made it. His hands let go of the mattress and he stood erect, for the first time in over a year.
He was dizzy and felt like vomiting, but he overcame the urge. Years of military training kept him upright.
"Great!" the doctor called out and the nurse laughed joyously. He looked around his room and smiled.
"You mean I actually commandeered one of those?" he asked as he looked at the small holographic image rotating slowly on the projector on his bed-side night stand.
"Mhm," the navy officer who stood beside it nodded as he flatted a crease in his uniform's trousers with his right hand.
"Wow," he replied. "I wish I remembered."
The officer looked at him with slight amazement. He felt sorry for the man in the hospital's night gown. He imagined how hard it must be for the patient to have forgotten so much about his past.
"Sir," the officer cleared his throat. "Sir, I have a letter from Navy Command for you." With his left hand he retrieved a folded note from his vest's pocket and handed it over to the man still staring at the rotating ship.
"Ah yes, the nurse mentioned that." The patient accepted the piece of paper, unfolded it, and read silently. After a moment, his gaze slowly crept back up to the guest. His eyes glistened.
The officer gulped. This was harder than he had expected it to be.
"I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled and averted his eyes, not wanting to stare at the patient. The patient sniffed. With a shaking right hand he wiped a tear from the corner of his left eye before reading through the notice another time.
After several moments, the officer fumbled with the buttons on the lapel of his vest, before muttering, "Sir, I need to leave now."
The man in the night gown looked back up to the guest.
"Of course, of course," he said slowly. He put the letter on the mattress beside him, pushed his hands in the bed, and slowly got up onto his feet. Straightening up as much as his weakened body would allow him to, he pushed out his chest, put his shoulders back, and face the officer. Then he saluted.
The officer choked back a sob and returned the salute.
"Sir."
Spinning on his heel, he turned away and headed out of the room.