Lost
Here's the first half of a quick take on ASU. I've played around with a few things to fit the story. I'll post the second half later this week.
As always I don't own any of the characters.
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I sit here, solemnly reflecting on my thoughts, as now they are all I have. The room is empty, save one cold, hard metal chair that I currently occupy, that I’ve occupied almost as long as I can remember, and one matching desk on which I write these words down on the paper they have provided me.
I’ve described the room before. It’s the same every day. Sometimes they leave paper, sometimes books, always dictating what the activity for the day is going to be.
They bring me here each morning after I’ve had breakfast and then again after lunch. When I first arrived, they would inject me with something, always claiming it was to help me relax so that I can clear my mind, brush away all the garbled panic thoughts going on inside. After a few days this stopped, no reason was ever given.
They tell me I am American, whatever that means; that I come from a country across the ocean. While looking at a map it seems vaguely familiar, it doesn’t feel like the whole truth. I can only think that it must be as once they changed to that language, I could clearly understand them. Not that I couldn’t sometimes before. I felt like I should. Sometimes it was there, but when I focused on it, the words and their meaning would fade to nothing.
The truth is… I have no idea who I am or where I come from. They try to tell me what they can but I’m no closer to knowing myself after each session. I’m starting to hear the murmurs more clearly before they join me in my…cage, as I have come to call it these last few weeks. Room does not suffice. Rooms have doors that can stay open. This one does not and cannot be opened from the inside. One thing is clear from this vantage point; they think I’m crazy.
They laugh and make jokes outside the room, which they think I cannot hear. I have not told them yet that I know. It is the one thing I’m sure of; they don’t believe anything I say. They ask me to tell them what I do remember each day, if I have remembered something. It’s always from my dreams; nothing new comes from being awake. They asked if I remembered ending up where they found me. When I tell them I recall falling from the sky and landing through that wall, they give me a look.
I recognize the look now that I’ve seen it so many times. It’s the ‘he must be crazy’ look as they’ve told me no one can fly and no one can survive crashing though that wall. I tell them that it is all I remember regarding that and to me, it seems to be the truth. But no longer do I try to recall details about that, for nothing I would remember would be what actually happened.
They ask me what else I remember and yesterday, I replied, ‘saving a boy’. He was in a field somewhere I couldn’t remember or identify by the surroundings; those details seemed unimportant and fuzzy. The boy was tending to his father’s crops when a large animal charged at him. I told them I ran towards the boy, shoved the cat away, and scooped up the boy, swiftly returning him to his parents, who had seen the cat heading towards the crops. The father then went to round up the other locals to oust the beast from the area.
They, of course, didn’t believe me. Once I found the name of the animal, a tiger, in that big book they like to bring in where I can’t read, only point out the pictures, they told me that my story was impossible. Man cannot barehandedly fight off a tiger unscathed. I reserved the knowledge that I was nowhere near the boy when I heard the beast, yet somehow just managed to appear. Also, how do I recall a beast, yet not know its so commonly known name? I get no answer from them.
They asked again and I responded with another story about walking through fire to grab a father who had rescued his kids only to find himself trapped. I got him outside to his panicked family. I left before the family could give me thanks once I heard the sirens.
This time, I changed the subject before they could respond. I ask them where I am again for the hundredth time, avoiding more talks of memories for the day. I already know they will tell me that a man cannot walk through fire and not get burned.
My nightmares are always the same. It’s big and green and I’m powerless to stop it. It fills my view; so immense, I can’t see anything else. Even if there was something else to see, it’s dark and there is nothing else in view. It hurts but I can’t let that stop me, so I don’t. I succeeded, but then I’m here, awaking in this place. I can’t get it out of my head, but it’s not real. They tell me there is no green monster coming after us all and I have not been able to identify it in their book . They add it to my list of craziness.
How is it that everything I feel and know to be right is crazy and everything that’s true that they tell me feels wrong or not quite right? Does that make me crazy? Are the things inside my head that I believe as fact wrong? They talk about going with my gut instinct when I talk to them, but it only leads them to believing me less.
They bring me comics in hopes they might spark an idea of where my ‘hero’ memories come from. Although entertaining, none do, but it passes the time; as does the newspaper. They bring me copies from all over.
The Daily Planet is my favorite. Today’s date is July 4th, 1991, which is a holiday there in America. Independence Day, remembrance of when they declared themselves free from the reign of King George of England and celebrate with barbeques and fireworks.
Maybe someday I’ll be free from here. I’ll find the key that unlocks my memories and they’ll let me go.
The Americans had to fight. What if I did? Can this place hold me? Would they stop me? If the crazy thoughts inside are in fact true, then they couldn't, but are they real?
Men can’t actually fly and walk through fire unharmed; I see that in the papers I read. Men die in fires and use planes to fly. I am crazy; I just need to resolve myself to that fact. There is no escape until I accept it. My dreams are not my memories. I don’t know where they come from, but they aren’t real.
However, that doesn’t explain this morning when I woke up and fell on to my bed. Was I awake yet? I felt awake. It was real; it has to be even if they tell me it can’t be. Maybe I’m sane and everyone else is crazy. They keep telling me what I believe isn’t reality and what they tell me is. Maybe they don’t want to believe that I’m right, that men can fly and fire doesn’t burn. Tomorrow, I will test this or else I will truly go insane. Both they and I can’t be right about the world.
