The room was dark. No footprints lay imprinted in the smooth layer of dust on the floor, save two. Two footprints stood, oddly, on the surface of a round table in the middle of the room, by which was a simple wooden chair, covered in cobwebs.
A door opened, a single light flickered and turned on directly over the round table.
A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, hunched over as if he were exhausted. Slowly, he entered the room and walked towards the table. His feet left footprints, but somehow a breeze blew through the room, covering each one up again. The two footprints on the table lay untouched.
The man sat down in the chair, which creaked under his weight. His deep brown eyes held a blank, unreadable look, as if he were trying to figure something out. He ran his fingers through his black hair and rested his elbows on the table. He inhaled deeply and sighed, but no dust entered his mouth. It rose an inch off the table and simply drifted back down again. The man closed his eyes.
Plunk. A sudden noise made the man open his eyes and look up. A small, round stone lay in the middle of the table, directly between the two footprints.
Without thinking, he picked it up, held it to his forehead, and closed his eyes. A sharp, twanging note vibrated through his skull, like a guitar string about to break.
Then it broke.
The sudden pain, like an electric shock, shot through his brain and down his spine. He threw the stone away from himself and clutched his forehead, howling in pain.
The man awoke to the usual sounds of moaning and feet going by the door. He felt no agony over his dream, nor did he have to wonder where he was.
First of all, he didn't remember the dream. Second, he had been where he was for the past ten years... Fourside Hospital for the Mentally Unstable. Waking up on the small cot was no strange thing to him anymore. But to many people, he himself was quite a strange thing.
The oddest case of amnesia anyone has ever recorded, someone had quoted about him. The thing was, the man couldn't remember a damn thing from age 16 down. Okay, well, maybe two things... The first was a flash of bright light and the feeling of being thrown backwards. Then, blackness.
After that, his memory was perfectly normal: he had awakened in a hospital, but then had been transported to this place after they found out about his 'lapses'... Flashes of memories that lasted everywhere from a minute to an hour, where he apparently rambled on and on about the most absurd things. And when it was over he couldn't recall anything he had said.
The doctors asked him about some of the things he allegedly claimed to 'remember'. "You said something about a giant sea monster..." "...Mentioned the word 'blue' several times..." "Any recollection of a large, glittering statue?"
"...A giant eye..." "...Some sort of 'magic cake'... Did you perhaps take drugs?" "...A blues band..." "...A lost love..."
But alas, he couldn't recall a thing. Zero. Nada. Zip.
What the hell is wrong with me? he had wondered in the beginning. But by now he was used to the questionings, the odd things they claim he said.
Except maybe for one.
The lost love.
Who was she, he kept asking himself over and over... Or perhaps he? Lord knows he very well could have been gay... But no, no, no, it was just insane ramblings, his mind fought back. All the doctors said so, although maybe not using that terminology. He had seen several psychiatrists to try and discover the 'hidden meanings' behind his flashbacks... But there were no hidden meanings. It was all false. Untrue. Made up. Besides, as one said, "You would've remembered long ago if they had been true."
"...you said there was a note..." A note from who? His lost love, perhaps? "...PSI..." PSI... What the hell was PSI? "...short men with big noses..." So? There were lots of short men with big noses in the world. "...telekinetic powers..." If he did have them, he woulda teleported out of here as quickly as possible. "...Spanish gamblers..." Now that was just WEIRD...
As they had told him, they had tried to record his monologues a few times, only to find that he had knocked the tape recorder over and either stomped on it of bashed it with something, shouting over and over, "NO! NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW!" Somehow, even when they had tried bugging him, the room, or themselves, he had found the microphone and destroyed it.
They also mentioned friends... He had said their names so many times in his ramblings, but he had said them so fast it was hard to discern one from the other.
Friends. He rolled his eyes and blew a small puff of air out the side of his mouth. He didn't have any friends. If they would, they woulda at least come to visit him.
Unless they were all in insane asylums too... And a family... Hadn't he had a family?
He couldn't remember. Just like everything else he couldn't remember.
He didn't have time for any more thoughts. His mind went blank, his eyes glazed over, and he went into a ramble that lasted nearly forty-five minutes. When he awoke, he was still in bed. A doctor stood over him, scribbling fiercely on a notepad.
The cycle begins anew.