Forgotten

[Master of Pain.]

My eyes fluttered open. A blinding light made me think twice about opening my eager eyes, but I slowly let them adjust. Was I in heaven? Was this truly the end of my short and meaningless life? Its strange, you never truly realize how little you accomplished until you find out your next to enter those pearly gates, or worse entering the fiery inferno that is hell. Depending on how you lived your life, Hell could be a welcoming place.

 

My surroundings soon came into view. Stark white, padded walls enclosed me, a door with a small window offered the only clue to where I might be. I began to get up when I found another clue, a straitjacket, as if the padded walls weren't good enough to help shed light on where I was. What have I done? Yes, I wasn't the sanest man nor was I insane. Your average run of the mill Joe working double shifts at the gas station in order to make rent, in order to support a wife and child.

 

Using the wall as support, I pressed up against it and eased my way to my feet. A dizzying sensation overcame me, nearly sending me back to the padded floor. I shook it off and went up to the window. There wasn't much to see of the hallway, save the numerous doors along the other wall, each no doubt housing a mental case.

 

Tears streamed down my cheeks. Why was I put in here? I'm not crazy, not at all.

 

Panic overcame me. My eyes darted back and forth at the padded walls which seemed to creep closer and closer, cutting my room to half it's size. I dropped to the fetal position against the door and closed my eyes. All a dream and soon my wife will wake me up for work and all will be normal.

 

But I didn't wake up nor did I fall asleep, for the remainder of the night I laid there, crouched in a ball until I heard the clicking of locks being undone and the rhythmic footsteps of guards making their rounds. I sat up as I heard my door unlock. The orderly grabbed me under my armpits and hoisted me to my feet.

 

“Back again are we?” he asked, beginning to remove my straitjacket.

 

I eyed him for a moment.

 

“I want to speak with whoever is in charge,” I said, doing best to hide the tremble in my voice.

 

“You have an appointment today.”

 

I breathed a sigh of a relief. Every thing will be sorted out and I can return to my plain existence. I made my way into the hallway and walked down the corridor, side by side with a man who claimed he was King Arthur. I couldn't help but smile as he proclaimed his rule over Briton, or in his case the mental institution. Offering a nod and few words, I let him ramble on about the Holy Grail. We parted ways at the free room where patients could watch television or play checkers or just lounge about.

 

I strolled around the room, eavesdropping on the various nuts that seemed to be in very deep but very pointless conversations. Then I stopped. What if I truly was crazy? I mean they don't normally throw someone in an insane asylum for no good reason, well aside from the stories of conspiracy littered in fiction writing. I shook the thoughts from my head and made myself think positive, at least I'm not dead.

 

“Tim Stillwater, please report to the exit,” came a call from the loudspeaker.

 

I glanced about the room, no one stopped their activity.

 

“Tim Stillwater.” Still no reply.

 

Two orderlies came into the room. I eyed them cautiously as they neared closer towards me. They walked behind me and stopped. Something wasn't right. I felt the tug of their strong hands on my arms, their grasp cutting off the circulation.

 

“Lets go Tim,” one said, dragging me backwards.

 

“I'm not Tim, my name is Greg, Greg Knight,” I screamed, my heels dragging on the cold tile.

 

“Sure Greg,” one said, eliciting a laugh from the other.

 

My world was crashing around me. Am I me or am I someone else? The thought nearly made me upchuck but I held it down despite the lump of bile that was moving up my throat. They dragged me to the Warden's door, pressing a button along side the hard oak frame. With a buzz, the door opened and I was dragged in. They placed me in a chair facing the warden, though the man looked familiar as if I had once seen him in a dream, like that strange feeling of dejavu. His receding black hairline stretched back midway then puffed up. Thin wire framed glasses held a glare from the ceiling light which hung by a chain above his desk.

 

“This here is Greg,” an orderly said.

 

The warden put a hand to his chin and motioned the orderlies away with the other, his eyes glancing down at a manila folder with various papers displayed. I peeked at the tab on the folder, Tim Stillwater.

 

“Why am I here?” I asked.

 

“Tim, I thought you recovered from this,” the warden said shaking his head with dismay.

 

“What, got over what and my name his Greg?”

 

“Okay Greg what do you remember.”

 

I sat there a moment and closed my eyes. It was Friday, the door to my house was ajar, it's hinges broken. I delved deeper into my memory. The hallway rug which started at the entrance of my house was pulled up. Pictures of family hung on the wall were now on the ground, the glass which held them in place shattered along the hardwood floors. My bedroom door was open, which was strange since my wife normally slept with in closed, an old superstition of hers. When I came to the doorway, I choked up on tears.

 

I opened my eyes and looked to the warden.

 

“My family,” I said, trying hard to fight back the sobs.

 

“What, what about your family,” he asked.

 

I shut my eyes and looked upon the macabre scene. My once white sheets were bathed in a shade of crimson. To the corner propped up against the wall my wife laid lifeless in a pool of her own blood. I went to her and held her close. Then my gaze went to the side of the bed where another body lay. It wasn't my little girl, the body was that of an adult. I moved to inspect the face down corpse. I flipped it over and fell back, my eyes flashed open.

 

“What is it, what did you see?”

 

“Me,” I said stunned.

 

I couldn't believe it, my mind playing tricks on me that was it, it wasn't me couldn't be me, I mean I'd be dead wouldn't I?

 

“Am I dead?”

 

The warden lifted one eyebrow skeptically and let out a low chuckle.

 

“Of course not. Now let me ask you a question, who is this,” he said, placing a picture before me.

 

It was a picture of me, the one which sat along with my wife's portrait.

 

“Thats me.”

 

The warden nodded slowly and reached to a drawer on his desk. He pulled out a mirror and held it before me

 

“Then who is this.”

 

I nearly fell back when my eyes met that of the stranger staring back at me. I inched closer and moved away, bringing my hands up to see if the mirror was truly what it seemed to be, it was. I put covered my face with my hands and felt the warm tears flow freely from my eyes. The salty taste filled my mouth as I let out a never ending array of sobs.

 

“Whats wrong with me?” I asked, though I wasn't sure the warden could make out what I said.

 

“You see Tim, which is your true name, you have been institutionalized before for the same reason you are here today. You see the memory of your wife and yourself dead are real memories, aside from one major detail. That wasn't you dead and that wasn't your wife. Tim you killed those people and took their life and made it your own. You've done it before, but we thought we fixed the problem and you recovered fully.”

 

My world was crashing down around me, revealing where I truly was, Hell.

 

“Tim you suffer from a very rare but very extreme case of BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, where you take those you murder and through lies make yourself believe you are them. You see if anyone tries hard enough, they can make themselves believe anything.”

 

I screamed aloud and slammed my fists on his desk. The devil sat before me, his receding hairline masking the horns which no doubt protrude from his head. I launched myself at him, my hands aiming for his throat. I felt his pulse through my clenched hands which were wrapped tightly around his neck. I smiled grimly as he desperately tried to breathe. I saw his eyes begin to close when I felt an electric surge course trough my body, sending my body into spasms. I clutched my sides as the electric surge came again and again. My insides felt as if they were on fire. The orderly put the tazer on the desk and wrapped both arms around me while the other fit a straitjacket on me.

 

I screamed and hollered but that didn't help nor did the kicking. I couldn't even cry, quietly I resigned myself to my fate. I guess life is better than hell but then again who can tell the difference.