Nat stepped out into the main resident hall which led to the dormitories further down the hall to the right, and to the common rooms to the left.

  There were a number of other residents out and about, even given the early hour — nobody Nat recognized, but that didn't mean much — he'd often fail to recognize someone he'd been talking to every day for a week if he'd only talked to them in the library, and then they greeted him in the cafeteria. However, since he didn't know anyone else, that meant he didn't feel bad about looking at his feet and just walking past quickly without a word. Waking up sore, nauseous, and with no memory since going to sleep last night didn't put one in the best of moods to deal with other people, so he tried not to.

  The hospital only had about twenty full-time residents at any time, and of those only a few were themselves long-term — Nat himself was easily the longest. It routinely hosted up to three times that number of patients on any given day, and then of course there were the day staff, thirty strong themselves, compared to the skeleton night crew of several orderlies and nurses. The patients were split across two dorms, which were down the hall to his right, a few shared rooms almost always taken by female patients just across the hall, and a number of private rooms for those who would not or could not manage communal sleeping arrangements due to risk of contagion, severity of illness, or some other reason. Nat's private room was one of these isolation rooms due to his specific circumstances, and others were sprinkled along the hall opposite the dorms.

  Nat had bunked down in the dorms when he'd first arrived, but his status as a research subject meant he'd had his own room as far back as he could remember.

  So that's — let's see — exactly one good thing the episodes have done for me.

  It was honestly for the best though — headaches were the rule, rather than the exception, and if Nat didn't have somewhere cold and quiet to retreat to he might spend numerous hours, or even days throwing up, so it was just better for everyone for him to have a dedicated space to retreat to when he felt a migraine coming on. He'd once thrown up constantly for an entire month after a particularly bad episode right around his affinity affixed, and after about 3 days straight puking up absolutely nothing, as there was nothing left, he'd started thinking that maybe death wasn't so bad, really.

  He took the twenty steps to the common room from his private room (the main benefit of being labeled as a research subject) and stepped over to the nearly four meter tall stained-wood and brass tubular bell grandfather clock, affectionately referred to by anyone with any sense of whimsy at all simply as Opapa — 'Father Warning'. Opapa was a gorgeous specimen of pre-cataclysm engineering that was lovingly preserved and maintained. The carillon bells for which Bell House had been named did not survive the cataclysm; they had actually been responsible for destroying the prior main hall when they shattered in a resonance cascade and brought down the entire bell tower. Opapa's tubular bells had survived mostly unscathed due to being baffled when not actively chiming. Nat appreciated their sonorous melody a great deal usually — just not up close, with a headache, or on an episode day.

  Approaching the clock with appropriate deference to the aged device, Nat bowed his head and inquired respectfully — “Good morning Father Time, what's the damage today?” It is important to note here that Nat did not expect the clock to answer. He was ill, not insane — he hoped. If this was some sort of delusion he'd have to work on the quality of the food, he decided.

  Nat nodded respectfully to Opapa's baroque face as he spoke, it never hurt to be polite. The elegant hands which rotated in front of the white painted face indicated it was almost eleven in the morning — almost time for the start of lunch. What?

  Nobody had checked on him? Well, no wonder he was ravenously hungry — he'd missed breakfast!

  Before he turned away, he noted that Opapa had gotten some past-due maintenance since he'd checked the time yesterday — the bells were well-polished instead of just starting to form a light patina of tarnish. It was a bit strange to have worked overnight to do so, but on second thought it made sense; when better to do maintenance than late into the evening — it was the only time the bells wouldn't ring and few would care to check the time.

  Nat stepped away after checking the close face — he did not wish to add a clangor-induced headache to the list of the day's insults — and Opapa was loud as he tolled the hour. Noting that it was an hour before the cafeteria opened for lunch, Nat hurried towards the relative sonic safety of the day room — itself across the open central space beneath the central bulge of the common room rotunda.

  Okay, so it's still morning at least. I don't remember getting up, but unless I arose early to use the restroom I probably haven't been up more than a couple of hours. I'd think I'd eaten and thus nobody checked on me, except I'm hungry, so that's unlikely. Nat sighed to himself, I've probably just lost the whole morning of memories, again.

  Well, even if it's been a few hours — I was dressed and heading out the door so probably not in the middle of anything. I'll check and see if I left myself any notes when I go back to my room, maybe I can reconstruct my activities this morning.

  Writing notes to himself was a habit that Nat had established shortly after he learned to write, which was precociously early, he'd been told. Speech had been a lot harder, so that lagged a couple of years behind, and he'd needed some extra instruction with forming words properly and without a stutter. Reading and writing had come easily to him however, so he'd learned into it.

  Sometimes it felt easier just to write things and hand people notes, especially on days when he had difficulty speaking. He only had bad speaking days with relative infrequency in recent years, but it still happened a few times a year even now. The feeling of reaching for words and not finding them, or his tongue moving in slow motion making it impossible to say the words he intended was always disturbing. He hated it even more than the memory loss of an episode, because at least for those he wasn't keenly aware of being incapable. He hated feeling slow and stupid and anyone who wasn't familiar with him would assume he was both, if they met him on a bad speech day. Those days he mostly stayed indoors and read.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Note-taking after an episode had been the suggestion of a doctor treating him a number of years back, one he agreed was a good idea. They'd asked him to take notes any time he awoke from an episode, or felt like one was coming on. He even had a sheaf of heat-resistant paper he kept in his desk drawer for that purpose.

  The notes could also serve to help him keep track of what he'd lost to an episode, and would let him know if he was stuck in a loop of episodes back-to-back. It didn't always happen, but it wasn't rare, either. More than a few times he'd awoken with pencil in hand and paper covered in disjointed narration that cut out over and over. Seeing a few entries you didn't remember writing was bad; seeing a whole page of disjointed, confused sentences restarting was, in a word, terrifying.

  The episodes weren't predictable, though thinking back he realized he had a lot of memories of them right around the Equinox. That might just be happenstance — the week of the Equinox was when Humans and Brin got their traits, affinities, and talents. For most people that week tended to stand out in their memory — even if you weren't getting anything that year, your friends, or family likely had someone who was, and it was a period of excitement and celebration. Most work ground to a halt that week, even if it wasn't officially a holiday here.

  Nat went over the likely progression of the day in his head again. On days like this, in the worst case he could have woken up at 4 to use the restroom and been having back to back episodes for the last four hours, or he might have had only one lasting a few minutes, but the memory loss was more severe than usual. There was simply no way to know unless someone had been observing him, or he had time to write notes between episodes. He really should have gone to his desk and scribbled out something after waking up earlier so he'd know if he was stuck in a loop of waking up again and again. That would also signal that he should immediately try to signal for help so that he would be discovered, to call out so that someone could make sure he didn't hurt himself while effectively insensate.

  Jotting something down would have been the sensible thing to do — he sighed mentally — but it was just so weird waking pressed up against the door, that he'd forgotten his normal routine. Well, except the injury assessment — that was mandatory and reflexive at this point in his life.

  Waking up with blood flowing from an open wound wasn't exactly common, but episodes didn't care what he was doing at the time. Especially earlier in life he'd woken up with recent injuries, clearly suffered during the episode. Luckily he always seemed to injure himself only while waking up or when having a short episode, so he hadn't bled out while unconscious. Avoiding situations where that could happen was just part of the daily routine at this point.

  Okay, well, I've got an hour to kill before lunch. It looks nice out — let's go see what's new in the gardens.

  Through the day room was a glass door that led to the conservatory, and then further out to the gardens proper — both favorite spots of Nat's. The conservatory contained a broad selection of fascinating plants and vibrant flowers all year round, protected from the elements by a thick frosted glass that enclosed the outer walls and ceiling, keeping moisture in during the end of the rising-season and throughout the maxima that followed. Once the waning season started to wane, it would keep heat in all throughout the minima, until it was time for the rise to begin again.

  Today Nat decided he wanted to sit alone in the early warmth brought by the rising-season — early flowers were already blossoming and trees were bulking up their foliage. One could easily hear Opapa's bells from the gardens, so he'd be sure to dart across to be first in line as soon as lunch started to be served in the cafeteria down the hall opposite the day room.

  Nat was nothing if not focused once he made a decision, and the progression from room door to conservatory had only taken a couple of minutes. He could see people gathering in the day room back towards the residence hallway from where he'd come, and he was slightly self-congratulatory about having successfully dodged some likely small-talk between some orderlies and patients. He hustled through the door into the conservatory and made for the gardens, before anyone else got the idea to sit outside and his pleasant morning became an exercise in crowd-avoidance.

  Once in the conservatory, Nat glanced over and saw someone he could easily recognize, and remember the name of — Tanner … something. Well, a first name was good enough. Nat was just happy he could remember the one, but it was easy. His fur was more than most other Brin. Therefore, Tanner. Easy-peasy, and no nickname required. Anyway, Tanner was, due to the coloration, easily recognizable — Brin tended to stand out anyway, but the tawny fur coloring was quite distinct among even other wolfen Brin, thus the name — though Nat wondered if Tanner had started dyeing it lighter recently.

  Tanner was clearly having a bad day — he was gesturing in an agitated manner at one of the nurses. That wasn't all that unusual — Tanner was usually at Bell House a couple of times a month for therapy for persistent physical and vocal tics. Having them could dramatically alter his mood for the worse if he got frustrated by them, or by other peoples' reactions to them. So that happened a fair amount, but he seemed more upset than was usual.

  Nat decided he didn't want to get in the middle of whatever it was right now — he'd ask him about it later, and bee-lined it straight for the gardens, taking the circular path towards the wall that avoided the cobbled central circle, and heading towards the door to the gardens. Or at least he started to.

  Progress towards the gardens was briefly put on hold as Nat gazed around the conservatory curiously. He'd not been in here the last few days, they'd mostly been spent obsessed over some new fiction he was simply unable to put down back in his room. Apparently, however there had been a cold snap or something — the conservatory typically held off-season plants, but right now it was dominated by rising-season flowers instead of the falling-season. He'd have to ask the groundskeeper why, when he saw him. Nat was bad with names and faces, but the groundskeeper was easy enough to recognize — just walk outside and look for someone tending to the grounds. Simple.

  He shrugged and then resumed his motion towards the garden door. Before looking away, however, he noticed Tanner glancing his way, his gesticulating momentarily paused. Nat waved cheerfully, but kept moving, hoping that Tanner would understand that he didn't feel like talking right now but that he'd come find him later. Tanner seemed like he wasn't quite sure what Nat was getting at though, as he stared for a few more moments, and tilted his head, then waved back hesitantly and turned back and immediately started talking animatedly with the orderly again.

  Good. Looks like message received, Nat thought confidently.

  Tanner was no less agitated, but did sound less upset to Nat's ears, though Nat couldn't make out what he was saying at this distance. So… good? Nat was glad to help, even if unintentionally as a momentary distraction to head off a building tantrum or whatever it was.

  As that train of thought completed, Nat walked out into the gardens, and was immediately even more confused.

  Where the heck are all the rising flowers? These are falling-season species.