The Second Archives

L.E.A.P.: Alpha Trailer

Quick note: This is not discontinued like everything else. This is an actual trailer for a book that can be accessed on my newer profile. The newer profile is available in the external link.

L.E.A.P. Alpha

© 2012 James Janzen A.K.A. Michael B.

Darkness. The word comes to my mind, seemingly the perfect description for the absence that I see. I don't know where it comes from. I don't even know how my thoughts are working, how every sentence of thoughts that go through my brain even are there.

I can't even remember learning these words that my thoughts seem to be organized in. My mind is made up of memories that I can't remember. People that I never knew. Hopes and dreams that have no effect on me now.

Now? That word jumps up out of my thoughts. Where was I before now? Where was I before I ended up here? Not that here has any meaning. Not that there is really any description for the place I am in, if it can be called a place. It is simply darkness.

Do I even exist? Am I really anywhere? Am I simply a thing tricked into thinking that I am real?

I can remember a quote. It pops into my head out of nowhere, and I don't know how I know it.

"I think, therefore I am."

I can think, so does that mean I exist? Or is my thought process yet another thing that simply does not exist? Am I caught in a paradox?

Can I see light? I realize that there is light, as so-called "memories" come to mind. How could I "see" these things unless there is some light source letting my retinas recognize these images? Of a red bike, a large black dog. A woman smiling at me, a man telling me words of encouragement. Yet they are just memories, not anything that holds any value to me anymore. And as I stop thinking of them the mental pictures slowly fade away, leaving me staring into nothingness. Alone.

For the first time, I am afraid. It seems irrational, however. Why should I be afraid, when there is nothing here to be afraid of? It seems that I am afraid of exactly that.

There is nothing. No one. I have no friends, nothing to hold onto. The only things that try to comfort me are my memories, yet they hold no bearing on me. They do not answer any questions.

And yet I realize I have no questions. Fear gives way to contentment. I feel safe. Secure. Protected. There is no danger here. There is no reason I should have any doubts. What is there to doubt? What is there to fear?

Another memory flashes, as if I am in a cinema staring at a screen so large that it fills my entire field of vision. This one has bearing on me, though. This one manages to play on my emotions.

It is simply a picture of that encouraging man, and that smiling woman, standing beside each other, while another man hands them a cheque. The memory is like a picture, like so many of the others. Whoever I am, I am standing to the side, watching. But am I watching? Attached to the picture is pain. Fear. But above all, it seems to surround me with a feeling of betrayal.

Why?

How does this memory push aside all others to manage to manipulate my emotions? How is this memory so much stronger than the others?

The contentment I felt moments ago is gone, and this question takes over. Coming back with it is fear, again. Yet now I know there is something to be afraid of. Even though there is no rational reason for the fear, it stays. It pounds away at me.

Then I feel pain. I feel pain like no pain I have ever felt before. Somehow, I know it isn't related to that memory. This terrible affliction seems to not even be related to me. It seems to be coming from an outside source. I want to curl up into a ball, to shield myself from the pain, but I realize I am unable to move. I am unable to do anything.

And it scares me.

I wish it would end, but it doesn't. The pain just continues, a warping pain making me feel like someone or something is twisting me, pulling me apart and then gluing me back together again. It feels wrong, to a great extent. My body should not be mutilated in this way, if I even have a body. If I even have a soul, if I even exist.

The question rings with every bolt of pain, as I feel even the darkness slipping away from me: Who am I?