Dream, Reality

It is said to lose ones identity is to lose all one has. But what if you never had an identity? As irrational as it may seem I never knew who I was. I don't even hold a name to myself. I'm just 'him'.

To be fair I probably did have a name. Like everything else, I've forgotten it. A strange feeling it is. It's as though I've been locked away, in a cell, it's cold and damp. I pull my jacket around my body, a small security, as I continue trotting along the long strip of path. The raindrops begin to fall again, lightly hitting my head.

I continue to walk, almost aimlessly. Maybe someone knows me. Maybe I can remember something I have forgotten. Maybe... Maybe... These kind of thoughts roll over and over again in my mind. I feel like I do recall things, just they're stuck in my subconscious, waiting to be rediscovered.

The sun peers through a patch of clouds. I smile slightly as I lift my head upwards, towards the light. Its warm glow makes me feel slightly better. I turn at the sound of birds, searching for cover from the rain that seems to get heavier. Taking note from them I walk until I am under the protective shelter of a local store. I hadn't paid attention to where I was going, so I don't know where I am, yet I am content fighting off the cold and wet outdoors.

A calming voice captures my attention. I turn my eyes to a TV which plays videos, and listen to the voice.

"It was the first fissure in the columns that had upheld my childhood, which every individual must destroy before he can become himself."

It's familiar to me, as if I've heard this before. The voice, also, seems like a memory, distant. The video continues like this for a few more seconds, a black screen and an intriguing voice. It begins flashing images across the screen, a sensation of déjà vu hits me on each change.

Another video plays in similar fashion to the first, darkness and a mans voice.

"There are numerous ways in which God can make us lonely and lead us back to ourselves. This is the way he dealt with me at that time." My eyes are fixated on the screen, I cannot look away.

The final video plays, the familiar voice speaks again softly, "My sin was not specifically this or that but consisted of having shaken hands with the devil. The devil held me in his clutches, the enemy was behind me."

I notice my breaths, they're long and deep. My heart pounds slightly harder than before. A name begins to sprout into my head. I am unable to stop it. "Demian... Demian... Demian..."

I leave the store noting the clouds have cleared, as if like my mind. Something has been triggered from my memory, a piece of a puzzle I must work at hard to fill.

Thoughts of "what if?" begin to replace my minds "maybe". What if there's a reason you've forgotten? What if its better not to know? What if you never remember? I am unsure what could be worse, to never remember who I was, or to learn something I wish to forget all over again. My thoughts take possession of my mind.

With my eyes to the ground I continuously walk. Before long I am making my way into a building, I instinctively put my hand into my jacket pocket. I pull out a set of keys, one of which a vibrant blue. How had I not noticed them before?

I continue along a hidden path, one which only my locked away memory knows. Finally I end at a doorway, its number tilted slightly. I put in the blue key and it unlocks.

I enter slowly, hesitant, my eyes downward. Turning I face the door and push it closed. I breathe deeply, and turn, lifting my eyes to the room. I expected a flood of memories to hit me. Instead I receive a stale smell, not that of comfort.

I search the apartment for clues to my identity. My hand glides across the white painted wall, my eyes roaming back and forth. Dust has started to gather on the furniture, showing a long passing since a human presence.

My eyes settle upon a bookcase. It's quite large, filled top to bottom. I run a finger against the spines, reading the titles. Certain books capture my eye, they appear worn from repeated reading. Unknowingly, I smile at some titles. They appear to be interesting stories, that of heroic escapes and daring feats. I continue on, searching for clues.

Nothing appears out of place. Yet the atmosphere of the room tells me something is wrong. I pace up and down, between the rooms. My eyes ever watching.

I look upwards, following the ceiling. Some paint has started to chip, and a crack has started to form near the kitchen. Sitting on the stool, I take weight off my tired legs, my fingers begin tapping the bench top.

I decide to look over the house once more. Lifting curtains, double checking draws, looking beneath furniture. My efforts appear to be in vain. I press my back to the wall and slide to the floor. Against my will, exhausted, I sleep.

Light seeps in between the crack of the drawn curtains. Slowly my body rouses, I blink the blur out of my eyes. I begin moving to an upright position, rubbing my eyes wearily. When I remove my hand I notice something. A piece of white catches my eye. I slide my body towards the bookshelf, which I had raided the night before, and pull the piece of paper out from under it. Fear hits me as I read out, "Test subject No. 1016 to be exterminated." My mind becomes alert with a sudden surge of adrenaline. I begin to panic. I can't stay here any longer, it's not safe. My body, still stiff, jolts to a standing position. I stop my mind from cascading me, collecting my thoughts. It's not safe, and I need to leave here fast, but where should I go? I decide waiting, planning, to be too risky. Without a second thought, I'm running out of the apartment.

As I run my thoughts play back to me, as if a sound recording. What if there's a reason you've forgotten? What if it's better not to know? What if you never remember? My heart pounds heavily in my chest.

I stop a moment, only to catch my breath. Someone lays their hand upon my shoulder. I look up and my stomach drops, my breath catches. I slowly back away shaking.

I know him. I remember. And I need to run, fast.