Colors

AN: Because writing Self Insert is something I do when I'm bored. I kind of rewrite this one, very different from the idea I had first, though I tried to retain the same scenes.

Disclaimer: I don't own VK.

It was a deeply odd sensation. The electric shocks ran from her skin, shooting to her bones, and she revolted in response. A continuous sound echoed, along with a loud wail of another woman.

"Time of death, 11:40 a.m," cold voice declared, as if she'd done it a thousand times.

Death of whom? It surely didn't belong to her. Evidently, that was a stupid assumption. She was alive, and it was a perplexing statement, agitated her worse.

She dared to move her left hand, but swiftly stopped when a bolt of pain vibrated- could almost sob right on the spot but could hardly do as there was no ounce of energy to spare, leaving her no choice but to endure the hotness of the bed that was radiating at her back.

Out of the blue, thin sheet move, covering her whole form. Her heart thundered when it dawned on her the mere realization of such action.

Oh god! She was far from being dead! They ain't burying her alive?!

Panic rushed her, adrenaline became her fuel. She couldn't hold back anymore, but to force herself out of the darkness.

A loud gasped broke. Abruptly, white walls stumbled her eyes, and some people. Who were they by the way?

Though across her, all eyes at the girl on the bed, mouth gaped and barely made any movements.

Why? Was there something wrong with her? Where was she?

"Impossible," whispered by a woman clad in a white dress, "Tell me! It's impossible!" tone raised with an urgency as she deeply heaved.

"Please calm down Inoue-san, we'll review anything and check her laboratories and vital sign if we made a mistake." The doctor interjected swiftly, a poor attempt to sooth such tension covered the whole room. But the Doctor eyes appraising at the girl on the bed, almost not on ease of what had occurred.

"What's happening?" she spoke at last, for she couldn't stand the animosity hovering around the air.

They all just stared at her. Not a word came, and she despised how the way they made her filling the blanks.

What's was it?!

It was pure accident when she rolled her eyes across the window. It all took one glimpse to silence all the questions, leaving her blundered by an image reflected on a huge glass. A girl across her view, dressed in a white dress with unusual red tresses tangled around her face, and when the light stroked her skin, radiance beamed. Her sea-green eyes peering at her.

She gasped.

It couldn't be her.

She laughed, and the image mirrored her actions. It couldn't be her! It wasn't her. She denied. However, when her fingers touched between her chest, memories surged, violently taking everything in her mind. It erupted when it thrust the most sensitive memories, powerfully sinking her in tidal waves of emotions.

By then she absolutely knew what transpired.

Unveiled to the truth, her heart constricted, and gripping her chest helplessly, while the hot liquids came out involuntarily, flowing down to her face. To her anguish, almost everything inside her mourned as she could do nothing to ease the spasm of torment while leaving her vulnerable to the emotion.

And then everything went mix, as all the colors splashed to the blank canvas, only filled with rage and madness.

It wasn't her body. She was certain about it because she could vividly remember the scent of yesterday, of a crisp summer running wild.

Yes, it was definitely April. The summer was approaching on that day. The heat had made her clothes sagged, but gratefully compensated by the chill of wind when it had passed on her skin.

By the time she had entered the room, she had settled on the vacant chair. After a few minutes, it was the perfect time Professor Matthew stride in the room, along with his odd choice of a necktie.

When he spoke, magnificent of Van Gogh's masterpiece filled the words. He was too caught on his own enthusiasm that some of her classmates giggled on his weird antics. But Professor Matthew was being himself.

"Colors," he began, and he got her attention, "is only beautiful when it means something,"

She nodded in agreement with him. Instantaneously, her eyes went on her wrist, where the beads of moonstone glowed as she gazed on it. It was even more beautiful whenever light embraced it. Her lips curled as she reminisced how it came to her possession.

"But I am not her," She cut him off as they nonstop repeating the same question.

His eyes wrinkled, suddenly pierced his two cool brown eyes at her, "And whom do you believe you are?" A man across her went by the name, Nishiro on his tag asked.

"I... I-" gradually she paused, cast her eyes down and deeply thought of what response would appropriate without accusing her a big lunatic, but none of it could suffice.

Eyes went down to see the blue gemstones on her wrist. Her sheer evidence of unlikely events. And if she dared to spill half of the truth to him, it'd be no doubt she'd be a laughingstock, causing a great humiliation to her part.

Every move she'd take couldn't be more constricting, almost she was on the dead end.

Anger flared, hurt emerged, a sense of loss overwhelmed her, and it all mixed, that she could barely sustain all of it. It was suffocating her.

"Shiori," He called.

She looked up, smiled to him, a poor attempt to cover her mess up emotions. It was exhausting to correct him.

It was then the doctor grabbed a pile tissue beside the table where he sat, offering it to her surprise.

She would have to ask why. However, when she blinked stung rushed, tears gradually flooding, matching the sensation in her chest, choking her. Shame, it was utterly becoming unstoppable.

To say it was the worst day of her life was a vast understatement. A person doesn't survive death and wakes up only to be a whole different person, literally and figuratively.

"I didn't intend to stress you, Miss Shiori. But you must understand, we are here to help you." He explained.

She sniffed. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm...This is so frustrating,"

"I know," the doctor softly said.

"Thank you,"

She really was. All she gave to them was more ruckus in which she genuinely regretted it. It had been yesterday when she woke up from deep slumber, and with all surging sensation from her caused so much panic, making them sedate her to sleep again.

By the next time she woke, they asked right away, but sharply snapped at them every darn time, persisting addressing her name that wasn't hers. By then, it was the beginning to inquire about the last memories she had.

She gave nothing, and they tried to collect information. She couldn't provide anything that wouldn't question her sanity.

"That's alright. It is to our knowledge that you haven't received a concussion that could result a brain damage. You were shot, near the chest area, and lost a great amount of blood during the process delivering you to the hospital and-

"But why I was shot?" she cut him off right away.

"It was robbery shoot out and you caught an estranged bullet."

A morbid image violently thrusted in her mind.

It wasn't a shoot-out; she thought.

"Perhaps, the best explanation of the memory loss is because of the traumatic events had occurred."

She stared at him, lips biting while heart throbbed restlessly.

"Perhaps," Her response.

A lie,

One lies it all started.

Loads of questions were looming around her thoughts, and each second passed it only went multiply, leaving her more unanswered questions. It was beyond frustrating.

"Tomorrow, your parents will visit you." He said, snapping her reverie.

She nodded in response.

"Do rest well. We'll talk again together with your parents." His last words before he stood up and shut the door, leaving her to stare at the blank walls.

Shiori.

That was her start.

She needed to be Shiori.

Shiori eyes fluttered open, darted swiftly over the clock hanging above the room, realizing that it was past seven-night. Cluttered noises and pen scratching caught her attention, solely saw a nurse adjusting her IV drops.

"How are you feeling tonight, Inoue-san?" She gleed at her vibrantly, then went ahead writing on her clipboard.

"A bit all right," Shiori answered while stretching her arms to pull herself up but gasped loudly when pain hurled from beneath her chest.

The nurse, in a minute, was guiding her back to the bed, "Please be gentle. The stitches are still fresh,"

"I'm sorry," Shiori spoke. Her hands touched something between her chest, whimpered when she pressed it.

Gunshot, a reminder kept repeating like a mantra.

"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"

"I… " she paused. No, not a glass of water. Definitely not when the pain between her chest was enough to wake whatever dream she concurred.

"Yes?"

"A mirror, please. I want a mirror." Her peculiar request.

The nurse was undecided as she seemed to step forward, then backward. "Are you sure?"

Shiori firmly nodded.

And when the nurse brought her a round mirror, she fastly handed it over her.

Shiori merely bit her full lips. The reflection emulated by a huge glass across her did not justify the girl in the mirror. She pinched her smooth cheeks, still gaping on the mirror.

"I can't be this gorgeous, can I?" twisting her head to ask the nurse. However, the nurse smiled uncomfortably.

"Of course, you are beautiful, Miss Shiori."

"No way in hell this beauty exists. I mean, some do, but not me. It's so...odd,"

She looked back again in the mirror, doing some angle shot, and bared her teeth. "This is unbelievable," she whispered. "Look at me."

The nurse snatched the mirror without her prior notice.

Hey! That's so rude," Shiori complained.

Looking at her, the lady was rather more perturbed by Shiori's behaviors than Shiori herself.

"I think that's enough. You should rest more." The nursed expressed arranging her sheets.

"I am really not dreaming," Shiori murmured in a daze.

The lady stood, fixed her eyes on Shiori- who was staring on the ceiling, for a moment felt sorry for her. "I assure you don't, Inoue-san."

The nurse dimmed the lights before shutting the door.

"Why am I here?" she asked herself.

She sure doesn't belong here.

A/N: The quote belongs to Robert Henri. Well, I ain't some genius to pull out something witty as that. Lols. If there's some grammatical errors, I do apologize.