At one time in my life I had the belief that I was intelligent. Now it seems as if my brain was taken and replaced with one of an inferior being. I can see that happening. An alien race studying humans here on earth. They seen my abilities and were in awe . How was one man capable of all my achievements? Those days are gone and I remember very little of the past.
Perhaps it was all a lie. Do I believe everything I am told? I think so. It could be that I misconstrued everything anyone had ever said to me. Imagine that a life full of fiction. It seems my mind has never matured. Apparently I live without the ability to determine fact or fiction. It is stuck in a loop. A loop of only potential without success. Much like a child.
Is this really a terrible trait? To think like a child. Children are full of wonder. They have the power of imagination. At what point in time does the magic end and reality begin?
I seem to be on this fine line of what is real and what is imagined. The truth may be that I would rather imagine that nothing has ever been real. Is it possible to have a fresh start in the middle of life when there is a past. The only way that would be possible would be to be born again.
On that note… I think I was in the middle of telling a story. Is it fact, fiction, or delusions of a damaged reality?
It is obvious I haven’t been born again. I am here on this anniversary outside of the iron fence which holds the dead. I stand alone avoiding the past. I am being haunted by days gone by. It occurs to me that I shouldn’t be walking but running. Running away from the cemetery which is bound to hold my remains and the remains of another day.
I am faced with a choice. As simple as it may seem. I can’t go through with it. Not now, and I may never. If I enter those gates I may not come back. I may have to remain there in the blackness if I do.
The left side of my brain is being held hostage. Terrorists within my skull have taken it captive. There isn’t any logical thinking going on at this point. Fear has taken over. It is keeping me away from the prospect of solving my fate.
My memories seem to come and go. When they do come back I am compelled to force them out of consciousness. Never wanting to remember the torment I’ve been through. Whether it was an action of mine or that of another. Those memories just bring a deluge of thought. Thoughts of what was, wasn’t, could have or should have been.
What I want this day is to escape. I want to just go away and dream. To dream a dream and end the nightmare. Even if it is all a nightmare of my own doing.
I pass the gates. As I do I see a woman walking along a path shadowed from the sun by the great oak trees that rise up towards the light. They have no fear reaching out to the unknown. Is it the warmth they seek? Much like the warmth of a mother’s arms. Is this woman a mother looking for a child she once held, or a lover that once held her swearing to never let go? I will never know for I must go too.
I look up at the trees with their branches blowing in the wind. They have weathered many storms but still stand strong. My conflicts are small in comparison to what they’ve been through. Then again a tree can’t think. As far as I know it can just be. Another strong wind blows taking with it a few leaves as they flutter to the ground. Seems to be just another day in the life of a tree.
What will the rest of the day bring me? Is there still some hope left in that box? That box little Pandora opened releasing all the evils into the world. She was able to shut that lid. Keeping inside just that one spirit. The spirit of hope. That could be the one and only thing that keeps us in this world…. Hope
I must go and forget this place. I should probably just leave forgetting every place I’ve been. They all hold some memory. Memories of happiness, sadness, and fragments of a future that would never be told.
I have with me a few trinkets. A few objects that I fear are cursed. I carry them with me to give away or trade to an unsuspecting soul. These items have magic within but the magic turns to black. As black and absent as death itself.
Speaking of Death, Who is that man I keep seeing dressed in black? The one I see around every corner. He doesn’t look like a reaper as portrayed in lore, he is there though. I see him walking in the darkness. Nobody seems to take notice. How am I the only one? Is he here to gather an army? An army for the battle I’ve been foretelling.
I hear that familiar little voice again.
“Really, a battle? The battle is all in your mind. It is just a war within yourself. People really do care about you.”
Who is that? Is she the voice of reason or is it once again someone above my bed as I lie in a coma. It is as confusing to me as it must be to you.
If he is a reaper I will not fear him. I will let him take me away. For this fate seems to be worse than death.