7 Chapter 7 - Closed Eyes

1 year later (Peter is now 10 years old)

Fitzpatrick Residence

Peter's POV

I stare at white canvas in front of me. I try to draw from my memories for inspiration, but my mind feels cloudy when trying to think. The memories are there, but it feels murky inside my own head.

Like wading through a swamp, sinking deeper and deeper the more I delve into them. This is what that horse must have felt like in The Never-ending Story.

It's been like this since the coma, it was a common symptom for coma patients I've been told. Possible troubles with memory, that should most likely fix itself with time.

I think back to waking up for the first time. I had tubes going down my throat, so that wasn't comfortable. Mom was right next to me sleeping, but woke up and saw my open eyes clouded with confusion.

She got the nurses and doctors to remove the tube and then hugged the life out of me. At first I had no idea what was going on. I felt so drowsy from waking up, but shortly after I felt awake like I just drank a whole gallon of coffee. Definitely a weird change is feelings for sure.

The doctors put me through some physical therapy that was set over a long duration of time in my own opinion, but I went through it faster than a person waking up after seven months ever should. My recovery of my motor functions was incredibly fast, almost unnatural in a way.

They told mom that, but she just brushed it off as me being a very energetic physical boy. Who couldn't wait to get back home, so I tried harder than anyone ever has. Her words, not mine.

The doctor wanted to keep me longer, but mom took me home after I showed signs of a complete recovery, aside from the murky memories. Guess she couldn't wait for me to come home.

When we got home, mom looked the happiest I've ever saw her. I did notice though that appearance wise she looked like one of those people who didn't have a care in the world for how they looked.

Her eyes showed signs of strain in them, heavy bags were under said eyes. Mom's skin shade was paler than usual too, like she spent time cooped up in a room without any sun.

It was strange contrast to how I saw her the day of the accident. To me it honestly felt like it happened just a not long ago. For her it's been more than half a year since it happened.

I felt a little worried for her and asked about it, but she just brushed it off with a radiating smile.

At her insistence of being fine, I just left it alone. But she has gotten better since those first couple of weeks from the coma. So, I didn't have to actually push or anything.

Focusing again on the memories, my face starts to scrunch up at trying to remember something. It feels important to me. People wearing strange costumes start to appear in my mind, but the context behind the memories don't come through.

It's like looking at someone you know, but you can't remember their names. Or even any details about them aside from what they look like.

*Snap*

I open my eyes from the concentration to look down on the wooden brush. It was snapped clean in half between my fingers.

"You've got to be kidding me," I sigh out into the empty room of mine. My frustration building for a moment, before I take a couple of deep breaths to calm down.

This is also something that has been happening.

I've been breaking things here and there, not on purpose of course. It's mostly been pencils, but sometimes I day drift a little into my memories and then *snap* or *crunch* something has broken.

It's been quiet frustrating to me. Not like I love the idea of breaking anything I hold.

Speaking of my temper, I feel a little bit stranger. Like a stray thought just comes to me, but almost immediately leaves my head as soon as it comes.

Feeling curious yet a little apprehensive I've decided to record these stray thoughts in a small notebook. Just to analyze over it and see if it means anything to me.

So far analyzing these stray thoughts hasn't showed anything too concerning, but still I feel a little troubled by it.

Maybe taking a truck to my side of the car rattled my brain more than they thought. But it's not enough to really tell anybody about.

I stand up from my stool, heading over to grab some tape and glue. Getting a little arts and crafty to fix the brush. Once that is done I look at the blank canvas, staring into the white color for a few moments.

It reminds of something, but I can't put my thoughts behind what exactly. Growing a little frustrated again from the lack of memory, I leave my bedroom and decide to just go to the backyard since it's sunny out today.

Laying out in the grass sounds pretty peaceful right now for me.

Mary's POV

I open my eyes and see I'm in the hospital room again. A feeling of dread comes over me.

Looking around, I only see Peter's sleeping form. Yet, he doesn't have tubes attached like I remember or the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor sounding out in the room.

His skin is pale, almost colorless compared to my own. It feels wrong to see Peter like this in my mind.

I walk a closer to my son placing my hand on his own still one. To feel if he is really there or if it's just my mind playing tricks on me.

It feels cold. Like touching something lifeless. This thought stops me cold in my thoughts

The room starts to feel colder to me now. The shadows in the room growing in size. A foreboding feeling welling up in me

Suddenly Peter's hand shoots up to my grab my arm in a harsh grip. I gasp a little from cold touch of his forceful hand. Nails digging into my own arm.

I reach down trying to take his hand off gently, even if his grip only grows stronger. I won't hurt Peter, even if he's hurting me.

His rises from the bed, with his eyes still closed. The roomer reaching a almost wintery temperature. My breath coming out visible to the air.

The shadows encompassing everything else accept the two of us.

I wait in trepidation as he slowly turns his head in my direction to open his eyes. Noting how his own breath isn't visible, because he isn't breathing himself.

When I see them, shock overcomes me.

They're a horrid green.

*Gasping*

I lift myself up from my laying position and look around. All around me is just the details of my bedroom.

Taking a relaxing breath, I sink back into the covers of my bed, but don't shut my eyes. Not wanting to go back to sleep if nightmares is all that waits for me.

Nightmares that still happen even if Peter is not in a coma anymore for at least a year.

Some of the nightmares entail me falsely waking up in the house, but Peter is no where to be seen. Not in his room, the living room, or the backyard. Just vanished without a trace, as I call out to him in the empty house. Growing almost hysterical in his absence.

Another was like the one I just had now. Peter's eyes were always that horrid green color. I realize what the color was though or at least what it resembled.

The color of the Oz.

It's been a year since I gave it to Peter, but everything seems fine with him.

I've been observing him still though for the changes I thought were going to come. But there isn't anything that really pops to attention to me.

Aside from the fact that his learning progress is going incredibly faster than it was usual. I know Peter was a smart boy before, but now it's like if he study's something long enough he understands it.

What may take a person years to possibly understand, Peter can do such in only a handful of weeks. Even days depending on the subject.

I don't think he realizes his own prodigy like learning process.

It was a month ago when I tested it. I had Peter read a college level chemistry book. Now that may seem like a weird thing to throw at a ten year old, but Peter already understood high school level chemistry equations.

Still a weird thing to think about for a ten year old.

I threw out a equation at him randomly one day and he just answered after blinking at me. I tried a couple more and he just kept answering them. I myself being one of the leading chemist at Oscorp was able to tell he wasn't just spouting out nonsense to reply.

But actual answers.

Back to my earlier thoughts. Peter read the book and eventually gave it back to me. I decided to test him on it and well it went as I expected. He learned and absorbed the knowledge like a sponge.

Of course it could just be because he has a picture perfect like memory, so I then decided to get hypothetical with my questioning to get him to actually think about what I'm asking.

But he still was able to answer everything he learned into those questions too. All I really could say he needed was a practical knowledge of it instead of having only the theoretical knowledge.

I wonder if this is how much the Oz can truly affect a human being, when perfected. Something to note down in my personal notes. Which only stay here as people can't know what I tested on my son.

Getting out of bed, I look at the clock next to my bed. Seeing it's still pretty early, I walk out of my bedroom to see what Peter is doing.

A quick look in his bedroom only shows a blank white canvas sitting in the middle of it. A stool placed in front of the canvas. Seems like Peter was going to paint, but didn't actually do it.

I wonder why?

A walk into the living room shows no Peter either. I walk over to the backyard screening and see Peter is just laying there in the grass. Opening the slider door, I walk out myself feeling the cool morning air on my skin.

Shivering a little from the contrast of the temperatures. Feeling the grass on my feet as walk. I forgot to grab some slippers while going to look for Peter.

I stand over Peter, but see his eyes are closed. Thinking back to the nightmare for a moment.

With my shadow looming over his face, he finally opens his eyes.

They're a kind brown.

Author's note: A little small chapter just to give some more building on how things have been since Peter has woken up from the coma.

I've obviously placed clues here and there to show the subtle effects of the Oz, while also showing the obvious effects of it.

Mary is obviously still has a nightmares about Peter being in the coma, while Peter himself has his own problems of memories and strange fluctuations over control of his strength.

Now before people start complaining that he won't be able to plan or know anything without his memories. Just know that Peter wasn't planning anything in the first place even when he had his memories.

Peter isn't going to be some ultra altruistic person who sees a chance at being a hero in a world of powers, magic, and aliens.

He'll have some moments where he does actively help someone, but it won't be an everyday type of thing.

His main goal is just to be happy, with the people he loves. Also a little bit of experiencing and traveling of the world.

Eventually his memories will start to come back. The only hint I'll give on how they come back is with something or someone triggering them.

Leave some comments on how it was. I usually see the comments as soon as they come so my response time on them is pretty quick. Perks of having the app on my phone, I guess.

Thank you for reading and see you in the next chapter. Which should be pretty soon, maybe a day or two.