Information Overload

"Oh, my head hurts!" I sat up and looked around. "Hi Meg. Can you ask Dr. Weston to give me four and three quarter pills of Ibuprofen?" I looked over at the nurse whose name was Meg.

She stared at me slack jawed. "Sir, how do you know my name? And how do you know the Doctor's name?" She wrote something on her clipboard. And looked down at the brain charts she had been working on.

That threw me off guard. I didn't really know what she meant by, "how do you know my name?" I just knew that she was Meg, the doctors name was Weston, and I needed approximately four and three quarter pills of Ibuprofen to ease my head ache. I looked around the room and realized I wasn't just in a doctor's office. I was sitting in the Emergency Room of a small hospital in New York, and I was mostly naked.

"Um, Mrs. Johnson," I figured a little bit of formality couldn't hurt, "could I by any chance get a robe or coat? I don't like sitting in my underwear." She didn't seem to enjoy the prospect of me knowing her last name too, but she handed me a long white, 83.2 percent cotton, lab coat. I thanked her and asked, "What is my name? I can't remember a single thing about me. All I know is that I had a blunt impact to the head. And I only know that because it hurts right here." I pointed to a spot on my forehead.

The nurse sighed and set down her paperwork. "All I know is that the EMT's pulled you out of the Hudson River. We are trying to get your finger prints run so that we can identify you. I'll let you know if we get anymore information."

"Aside from head trauma, is there anything else wrong with me?" My head was the only thing that hurt. But I guessed I could have some internal damage that I couldn't feel.

The nurse glanced back at the file. "Nope, your all good. Well except for you head injury. But we don't even know that much about the head injury. Your head is bruised, that's all. It doesn't look like you have any brain damage, and you skull is still in one piece."

"Technically isn't my skull, technically, made up of eight bone plates?" I asked. "Not to seem to be a know it all but my head is more then one piece." I smiled sheepishly.

The nurse looked at me queerly and nodded. "Technically your head is made up of multiple bones. But I meant that as a whole, you head is intact."

"Oh." I sat there in silence for a moment. "If I can't remember who I am or what the accident was, why do I know your name, and the doctor's name, and how many pills it will take to briefly cure my head ache, and exactly what percentage cotton this coat is made from?"

"Well I do know that in some cases head trauma makes people smarter. I think there was a case where a fellow had a head injury and became a math genius over night. I don't remember exactly but I think the effects wore off eventually." The nurse thought for a moment and then said, "I think you seem to have a certain amount of intuition. Dr. Weston's name isn't anywhere in this room, and my back was turned when you called me Meg. I wonder how much you can get right. What is my husband's name?"

"Your husband's name was Andrew, but he died of cancer four years ago. I'm sorry about that."

The nurse sat down in a chair with a thud. She swallowed hard and said in a choked voice, "And my son?"

"He is-," I paused, "Oh. You don't know, do you." She shook her head. I winced and continued, "He died a year ago. I am so, so sorry." The nurse burst into tears and left the room.

How had I known that. It was just something that came to mind.

~~~

A week after waking up, I checked myself into an insane asylum. I had been let out of the hospital only a day after and had spent several hard nights wandering New York. Nothing had come up with my finger prints, so I was officially a nobody. I knew it wasn't Hospital protocol just to let people go like that, but I think they wanted to get rid of me, and I couldn't blame them. I had accurately predicted four incoming accidents and had told the desk nurse that the principal would be calling about her son. Everybody wanted to see me gone.

So I had wandered for over a week. Somehow I knew that there would be twelve dollars under the park bench, and somehow I knew that there was something quite edible in that garbage can. I had eventually decided to go to an insane asylum because I guessed I might be a danger to myself. I didn't actually know this for sure because all my intuition was extended to the outside world and not at all to myself.

At the mental institute they had me take a test. I aced all the quizzes and ended up writing my own math problems because theirs were laughably easy. However when it came to the section about me I had no answers. I just didn't know a thing about me.

Two days after I had snuggled into the mental institute, as I fondly called the place, four men in black suits came to get me. Before they could even knock on my room door, I called out to them saying, "Come in Agents Smith, Johnson, Williams, and Jones. What does the FBI want with me? And you fellows have the most common last names in the United States. Did you know that?" They didn't seem to be happy. They said only a few words to me and then took me away in a black sedan.  Apparently they are as commonly used as movies make out.

I looked at the fellows sitting on either side of me and said, "Are you guys going to inject me with the sleeping medication now or later." I felt a prick in my neck and blacked out.

~~~

"Oh my head hurts, and I'm not a fan of deja vu. What's with the medical room set up?" I looked around at all the white coats around me. "You guys haven't figured out what is wrong with me yet. So why are you buzzing around like bees?"

An intelligent looking man in a suit walked over and said, "You know more then you let on. We want to know what you know and how you know it."

"You mean that I know you are the head of intelligence at the pentagon and you think I'm some kind of security breach." I might not have wanted to sound so indifferent, but it didn't really concern me that much.

He smiled and said, "Exactly. We want you to come back to work for us."

That stopped me in my tracks. I had worked for the government? Now that was a plot twist the author hadn't expected. And the more he types about me breaking the forth wall, the more the story gets off track. Just go back to the guy in the suit, please.

The man said, "We want you back, Leo."

"Thank you for staying on track, wait what was that?" I said. "Oh you were talking to me. Say that again."

The man raised an eyebrow and replied, "I said that we want you back, Leo."

"I'm sorry, I was just a little distracted. But come to think of it, now that the forth wall has been broken there are all sorts of problems. The reader now knows that I know what they know about me. Oh, dear and I am just making it worse. Please agent, Smith. You have to let me go!" The man in the suit looked terribly confused. He stepped back a little and put his hand on the butt of his pistol.

"Leo, I'm going to need you to calm down." Now everybody in the room was staring at me. They were all waiting to see what would happen next.

"Guys, you don't understand!" I said. "The author has broken the fourth wall and now we are all at risk. I don't know one hundred percent what happens but I can only guess it isn't good." I stood and looked around. I couldn't see him but I knew there was someone observing me and writing down my actions. He started writing down what I was thinking even as I was thinking it. Uh, oh. "This has to stop!" I shouted.

Agent Smith raised his gun and pointed it directly at my chest. "Leo, calm down. I don't want to shoot you but I will if I have to."

I looked at him and in a panicked voice I said. "I think I have an idea." Then at the top of my voice I shouted, "THE END!"