The Man Who Never Knew Who He Was

The Man Who Remembered Nothing

It was cold and dark. The man, he could not remember his name, had no idea where he was. All he knew that the place he was most certainly cold and most certainly dark as well. It was a strange darkness. Not the usual kind. It was such a thick darkness that you can almost feel it pressing against your skin, trapping you in the room forever.

 It was only then that the man realised that his hands were tied behind his back. What on earth was happening to him? He could not remember anything. Was this a kidnapping? His head hurt. A blind and agonising stabbing sensation thundered through his brain. They must have hit him over the head when they took him. They must have hit him hard. No wonder he couldn’t remember a thing.

 He tried to remember who he was and why anyone would want to steal him and put him in this coffin of a room. What could anyone do that would drive someone to put someone else through the torture the man was going through. He wanted to scream. Would anyone hear him if he tried? Probably not. All he would do is make his voice hoarse and make his throat sore. It wasn’t worth trying.

 All of a sudden he felt something on his hand. It seemed to drip off his fingers like a tap that hadn’t been turned off properly. It felt wet and sticky. The strange liquid felt oddly familiar to him and this made him feel extremely uncomfortable. It was only then that he knew what it was. It was blood. Was it his? Or worse, was it someone else’s? Violent images flashed before his eyes of a man who stood over his victims with pride. A man who smiled at the crimes he committed and didn’t care about the lives that he had stolen. Were these actions things that he had done or were these images that his active imagination had thought up? The mere thought of it made him want to be sick. Was this why he had been kidnapped? Had he killed someone of importance to his captor? All of this made him more frightened. If he had killed someone that his captor loved, what would his captor feel was suitable revenge?

 Suddenly light filled the room. It burned his eyes and made them water. He couldn’t see anything but he felt two strong hands grab his arms and pull him out of the room and start to carry him down the corridor. He felt like a doll being dragged along the ground by its owner. He felt fragile and useless. What was the point of putting up a fight? His eyes had adjusted to the light and he knew that he stood no chance against the men that were dragging him along the floor. They almost seemed like monsters that had been crammed into a human skeleton. They were huge. Their insides seemed to want to burst out of their skin due to the lack of space they had. The monsters sacred him. He wanted to hide from them. He wanted to suck them under his bed and forget about them forever.

 The hall that he was in was fancy. Very fancy. There were marble busts everywhere of people whose names he couldn’t even pronounce. It was very much a place that he would like to live. Huge paintings were hung on the walls of posh men from medieval times who the man guessed were relatives of the owner of the house. The walls were painted royal red and a beautiful glass chandelier was clearly visible swinging from the centre of the ceiling. The man wondered what kind of person lived in a house as majestic as this.

 The monsters opened a door and flung him into a room. It was clearly the living room of the house as couches and seats could be seen all around the room. He looked up and saw a woman towering over him. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had blonde hair tied up in a tidy bun and blue eyes that sparkled like the sea. She wore a long, tight black dress with a slit up the leg that was accessorised with expensive diamond jewellery and massive black high heel shoes. She was probably the exact person he would have imagined to live in this style of house.

 The woman kicked him in the stomach with her great big shoes. It hurt a lot. She was obviously angry with him.

 “You look confused,” she said, “Don’t you know who I am?”

 The man looked at her more closely. He tried to remember her but had no luck. How could someone so beautiful know someone like him?

 “Dear husband. My bodyguards must have bashed your brain out when they took you. How humorous,” the woman began to laugh hysterically.

 This woman was married to him. How could this be possible? He was sure he was a criminal. Probably nothing more than a crook. He could not possibly own as beautiful of a pearl that she was.

 “Now I know what you’re thinking. Why would your wife get her guards to kidnap you and throw you in the cloak room? Well, I’ll tell you,” from now on the woman screamed, “You murdered my best friend! She was everything to me and you just killed her! Well guess what? Now I’m going to kill you!”

 She walked away crying. Had he really killed her best friend? Who would do such a thing? It was clear to him in that moment that he was in fact the monster in this house and not his wife’s bodyguards. He wanted to tell this woman to kill him right here and now. To get her revenge against him. He most certainly deserved it. He could see the woman returning with something now in her hand. A gun he assumed.

 “I’m going to kill you now.”

 “Go ahead. I certainly deserve.”

 He looks up the trigger of the gun and at that moment he knew everything. All his memories flooded back to him in one wave. He remembered everything. He remembered meeting his wife, Sally, and their wedding day. He remembered his mothers face and attending his father’s funeral. He remembered his name. John. He remembered the face of every single person that he had murdered. Every man woman and child. And he accepted his fate. He was going to die. And it was for the best.

 “I’m very sorry for killing your friend,” he said and he knew that it would be his last words.   

 The gun went off and it was all over.