Psychosis

The Disorder

Thick discouraging fog rolling away uncovering a beautiful yet disconcerting meadow. It's laced with clean fresh cut grass, daises, roses and lavender sought out to cover the edges of this eerie yet generic meadow. Near the center of the outstanding beautiful colourful, yet in only one spectrum, meadow,

A man can be seen

The man walks he stands nearly seven feet tall, he has a face of just shaven and cleaned face, only dormant silent facial hair around his never-been-used mouth. His lips have wrinkles and are very thin, as colourful to him as a rare steak, hydrated yet have no use other than show. His nose is stern long wide but with a thin ridge. His eyes worn, abused never rested, always being put to challenges that push to far.

Amber, peachy wholesome eyes full of age and growth, sparkling in the meadow at the time of dusk now. As he is walking he starts to spin in place, standing. Then slowly raising both of his arms up from his side's, slow never increasing accerlation. He is clothed with flannel. From the edge of his wrists to over his belt, his jeans, denim, strong always worn and stretched dark blue stone washed colour.

He has know idea why he is in here, he has story of how he came to being, but he could never believe there will be a moment of mass relaxation in his afterwards. He starts to close his eyes, drowning in total nirvana, he stops from overthinking, even if he knows he needs reason, he not sure why that feeling flushes over him and this man is worried that if he knows to figure out a plan to understand what any thing is why it is, then he truly feels he needs to keep his body and mind healthy enough to keep living.

He stops spinning very slowly yet no matter how slow he gets progressively sicker, from the pit of stomach. He doesn't understand the feeling and is disencouraged to thinking about what is going on. He doesn't think...

That was his last thought until suddenly he closes his eyes tightly and opens harshly fast, there was no meadow there was no calm lighting and relaxation in the air, it is not dusk,

He is indoors. Not realising this is an anomaly he sits up in this gorgeous bed, seemed to fit the likes of a king, drapes for privacy, a cool red, columns of dark brown wood holding the drapes oh so carefully to allow space for the man to leave and come as he pleases, the man jumps in thought of others walking,

Talking.

He sits up, legs out from under the sheets, made of the finest silk. He thinks very quickly and hestately, that whatever material, no substance that could make this object must bring the whole world all together and warm up everyone's, he doesn't know why he thinks this, and immediately at that, he feels like the moment this fabric were to touch someone, all their problems their horrible history, aniexty will just fall and without fight, cuddle to keep this moment as they can hold.

He has no idea what his mind is doing to him, thinking this way, thinking anyway, he has created all these moments of happiness in nanoseconds not knowing what any of those items or words meant.

He thought of all that and yet he doesn't understand how he could. To him, life started at that meadow.

There was no past,

No reason,

No idea of direction to pull himself into the future, if there is such a thing.

As he realises that he was staring at the floor he was going to stop but also at that moment he catches wind of what people are saying and finally acknowledge their presence as he stares blankly out his door people frantically walking in and out propels way, conversation piled on one another after another, they all don't care for the man sitting in bed strangely in a room for a king, not noticing him all doing their own things. He notices them walking, moving, weaving around this short hall, from the wall to it seems a railing, he takes note that he isn't on the first floor.