Four Hundred and Twenty | Yogscast Lewis (xReader)

T w e n t y T w o

T w e n t y  T w o

I n  t h e  M i n d

I was eighteen when George Introduced me to the first Far Cry game, unexpected that the franchise would excel in the future. 

He passed me the controller, unaware that after a very graphic (and poorly depicted)death of my character I played, I set it down and there came my first ever sight of blood on my hands. Even though it had been all on the small TV screen, cooped in the corner of George's student house room, it had drained me.

Somewhere in my head, my mind palace, clicked into place. 

It was the time when my mind was still adding a new ward of books every day, and I keep imagining the door which I had locked for years. The locks began to crumble, and I felt a new lock - quite different to the old - take its place.

It was something different. Not dark, but completely not innocent.

____

"[Y/N], you got to stay awake."

My eyes were shut, trying to fight the spasms I began to concur. "I...trying...but...bullet...air!"

"We've got you. Just hold on..."

"Agent! We're losing her!"

____

Within my mind, I snap my eyes open. 

Gasping, I spun around on my feet, feeling the cold marble floor as I looked now above. The ceiling had extended to the clouds, only seeing the blank mist and the faint glimpse of a chandelier. I felt nothing but emptiness in the air, only to take another breath of pant.

In another blink, I jerked my body and the whole scenery changed. 

The room darkened, and I was thrust back to a memory. When my mind clicked, the light darkened, and I felt the warmth and scent of a familiar room. It was small hallway, with only light emitting from the open front door. Scrunching my toes, I could feel the soft carpet and I shut my eyes to remember when I used to love the pale and beauty of Persian patterns.

I studied the hallway, and I had noticed how it was just past three in the afternoon when I walked over to the grandfather clock by the staircase. Even though the hallway was huge, there was a nostalgic and warm atmosphere that made my fingers twitch. My fingers trailed over the dark spruce table, feeling the dust collect on my skin until I came across a figure in front of me.

The figure was me.

She had been only around my waist, hair collected in a ponytail and dressed in a doll style dress and tights. As I gazed down at her feet, I smiled faintly at her shoes. It was the second Oxfords I had from my parents. They looked new and clean. The laces were tied neatly in bows and I can spot that there were hardly any creases yet from the leather. 

When the observation filled through, my smile faltered at the realisation.

"Where's my little Einstein," Snapping up, I stared at the man who spoke back. 

My father. Alive and much younger from the last time I had saw him.

He wore his coat, suit and case. On his hand, he prepared to open his umbrella that was always propped up by the coat hanger. And then all the deductions added up.