At eighteen years old I was involved in a violent accident and put into a coma for three months. When I woke up, I didn't know my own name, and I couldn't feed or dress myself. My family and friends were all strangers, and I was forced to get to know them all over again. In retrospect, the greatest help I recieved during my rehabilitation was from my father. With me most of every day, he didn't seem to mind helping me with every monotonous task, from sounding out a string of vowels to tying my shoes. The only thing I could never understand is why he never told me what kind of accident put me in a coma. On the day of his funeral, the truth about my accident came unexpectedly.
Uncomfortably hot in my black suit, I left the cemetery shortly after the burial. On the way back to my car, I heard someone call out.
"Shandy!" Not knowing why, I felt as if that person was adressing me. Turning around, I found myself facing a sunglass-clad business man. He had his hands in his pockets, and looked cool and refreshed despite the intense heat.
"Me?" I asked dubiously.
"Yes, your name is Shandy isn't it?"
"No, sorry, you got the wrong guy."
"On the contrary, Mr. Oshean," He took his sunglasses off and stepped towards me, "I believe you are who I'm looking for." I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hands and looked up at him again.
"No, I'm not, leave me alone." I opened my car door and moved to step inside.
"It was a four-pool rush." He said confidently. The words sounded familiar, and I looked over my shoulder at him. "Two of them actually," He stepped closer, "at once."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.
"Your coma," He responded, "was caused by an especially abusive double four-pool rush on blood bath." Trying to figure out what he meant, I stared at him as he continued. "Impossible to stop, even for someone of your calibre."
"I'm sorry, you definetly have the wrong guy." I got into my car and fired up the engine. He watched silently as I rolled down my window and wished him luck in his search for this "Shandy". As I drove away, he walked beside my car, and just before I started going a speed that would force him to walk at a pace that would ruin his whole slick, calm image, he handed me a file folder, which I took and threw into the back seat.
That night after dinner I sat down with my gift from the cemetery man and pulled out the first paper, which had a note attached.
"Maybe these will jog your memory in time for the tournament."
-X'Ds~Grrrr...
Hmm.. some sort of code name or something? Who is this guy? I glanced at the paper and noticed there were scratchy notes written in red by some guy named 'Zileas'. By now I was very curious, and so I began reading.
We made another game after the lady left, and an ultra-gosu by the name of [HG] entered. The argument started
Home
Forum
Starcraft Tournaments
