Lost Marbles

For the past few weeks, we have been working in narrative stories. My topic is about Man vs Self, as my main character will be fighting his inner demon, and fight to get his sanity back.
He forgets what has happened to him in his lifetime; all of a sudden he woke up in a facility where he was taken for rehabilitation. Slowly but surely he finds out secrets about his past, still fighting his demons, losing his sanity bit by bit. What will be his fate? 

(This is the first part of the story. This will be four parts long; not long after the second part will be posted)

Lost Marbles

Part 1

Chapter 1:  “Darkness be my friend…”

Life…What’s the meaning of it? For me, it’s just a phase or an occurrence before death. Life is not something to enjoy, it’s not where you can just kill time along the way. Because as seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years pass by, you will soon realise that not only are you killing time but also, time is killing you, bit by bit….. By the time you’ve realised that, you start to remember all the miserable experiences that happened while you were living.

They say death is the most terrible event that happens throughout the course of your existence; however there are times where death is just for the best, you might as well call it a blessing.

As I breathe my last breath, my life only hanging by a thread. Gusts of strong, powerful wind hit my weak and frail body. With my hands, ears and nose beginning to numb and my skin starting to wrench; the sounds of street cats, rats and roaches fill my ears. My sight getting blurry the more that I blink; rain begins to drop, only adding up to the injuries both physically and mentally. I still try to keep myself from dying, trying as best as I can to get help and survive. Suddenly, reality hits me and I keep thinking, “is my life even worth living?” My life only consisted of nothing but episodes of forlorn and doleful memories anyway; well, at least as far as I could recall. However, there was a part of my life in which I was happy, joyful, cheerful and where I was just thankful that I was still living. But that….that didn’t last long.

Chapter 2: “Dark was the night, cold was the ground”

After waking up, my mind still hurting after I had “that dream”. Which seemed like as if it was the same as what I’ve been dreaming lately for the last few days; but it somehow didn’t feel like a dream, but more like a nightmare, a very, very real like nightmare. I can’t remember it clearly, even so, from what I can recollect; the feeling of it isn’t like any other dream- well, nightmare,  that I’ve ever had, it felt like someone or something overcome-, no…. more like possessed me.

My everyday routine is very simple, wake up, eat, sleep and repeat. Although even if that sounds very simple and or complicated, where I am and the reason I’m here is a bit complex per se. All I could remember is suddenly waking up inside an enclosed white room that is as soft as can be; there wasn’t really anything interesting in that room, there weren’t furniture or any other objects. It was just me, wrapped in a chalky tight jacket. Several moments after I woke up, a seemingly well-camouflaged door opened; two men dressed in clothes as white as mine went in. They stared at me for quite a while as if they were waiting for something to happen.

A little while after, they finally started to move towards me. I was slightly scared, like anyone would feel given that I don’t even know who they are, their true nature, their true colour, similar to that of looking into a clown. They have a fixed smile and make-up to cover up what they feel and their real expression on the inside. With their face morphed in that structure and form, their identity is unknown and it’s that feeling of the unknown that gives us that unexplainable, bone-chilling fear, the oldest and the most frightening of any other...

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” - H.P Lovecraft

Aside from not knowing who they are, what alarmed me the most is the thought of not even knowing who I am. That’s right…. Who am I? Now that I start to think about it, I don’t know my self personally. I have no idea what my life was back then, even my name- “It’s been a while, do you remember me? ” a voice whispered followed my an uncanny, eerie grin that sent chills up my spine.

Panicked and petrified, with a trembling voice I asked: “W...who are you?”

Unsurprisingly, due to shock, knowing somebody is living and talking in my head except for me made me quiver in fear.

The wait for his response seemed like forever though merely seconds.

“You seriously forgot me?! Come on, really? Oh well, how about your past, do you remember any of it?” (The voice faded in darkness and into the abyss, never to heard from any sooner. That’s what I thought…)

Still not knowing who that was, how it knows about my past and even knowing me more than I do, those details and information were a mystery… not for long.

Chapter 3: “Fiction is the truth inside the lie.”-Stephen King

Abruptly, a tap on my shoulder made me break free from my dwam. A sense of fright still lingered around me, a short trauma that I couldn’t shake off. I became more cautious of my surroundings and vigilant about those who come near me.

One of the men grabbed my hands gently which were seemingly shaking; just as what is done with young children, letting a sense of safeness for them to feel. It’s something that has been done unconsciously throughout the ages, being done in any race and culture. Letting that sensation of safeness takes out the fear, any kind of fear, even the most powerful.

He talked just as he held my hands, light and soft. Nonetheless, what I felt is opposite to what I should supposedly feel. Assuming I should feel protected and safe; however what I sensed from his aura is different, it’s comparable to that of most politician and as mentioned before, a clown. Hiding what’s really inside, plotting something that is not so gentle, to me, or to any other.

“Can you stand up?” he asked as if he was choosing to say a few words as possible, not only that but he also talked quite slowly like he was on slow motion.

I stretched my mouth open to reply but, no words came out. Just as if I were a machine and one my functions was not working. My face began to tingle and my cheeks were beginning to warm up, trying the best that I could to at least say something yet nothing works. The frustration was getting out of hand, I didn’t know what to do; realising that not a sound would come out any sooner, I zipped my mouth and simply nodded.

I placed my hand on the floor and stood up like it wasn’t a challenge at all, though admittedly it standing up wasn’t really easy. Muscles in my thighs and legs were feeling tight; not only that but my ankles were apparently swollen. The two men guided me as I warily hopped out of the room.

Not that long after we were out of the room where I was previously in, which I then realised was in a further, bigger chamber. There was not a trace of fragrance that I could smell, almost confusing my brain and wondering if my one of senses was not working anymore; however, that was not the case as far as I’m concerned.

Subsequently getting out of the room, I heard nothing but almost quietness, though there was a bit of slight murmuring. We walked across which seemed like rooms after rooms following past and not long before we reached a door; judging by the look of the handle, it appeared as if it was worn and had been here for ages and probably ages to come.

Across the expanse, I heard chatter, a small bit of muttering and music from the classical genre.

They sat me on a chair with a crowded table. “Who’s this’th fella’r here?” asked the man who they sat me next to. He’s blinking constantly, well,  faster than it should. Only from his voice, I could tell he is surely a country fella, however, his “colour” definitely dan’t fit him. It doesn’t look like he’s from anywhere in America! Maybe Pakistani-all of a sudden he tapped me and said: “My name is John the II, nice to meet you, good sir.” it appeared as if he was a completely different person!

“Ok?” retard…..

I looked across the table from where I sat, there was a man totally different from the other one. The man was a redhead, he crossed his brows as he observed his pieces and looked for a safe move; scratching his big bushy beard along his chin. Several moments after, he picked up his bishop and moved towards his king; tapped the table and finished off with a small little grin.

A little while later a sound from the many speakers around the room turned on, with a lady saying “Med time boys.”  The redhead and “The retard” stood up walked to a lightly painted booth, and inside was my soon to be rival, “The (female-dog: Beach:) nurse”