Devoid

Revelation of Sanity

He was able to see something just off in the distance. Something lying on the ground, limp. It was an odd sight, among all of the darkness, among the black void, this was the only thing he could see. He took his time, slowly creeping up on the thing. His vision adjusted, and upon closer inspection, it was a person!

The body of a young women, lying on the floor with no movement. Her hair was a deep black, which blended in with the environment. It slouched, covering her face from sight. She wore a white tank top that was ripped around the back. Her slender arms where covered in bruises and scapes. She nearly looked dead.

He crept up quietly, fearing that the women would wake up startled. He could hear her breathing now, slowly and steadily. He was hesitant, unsure what to do in a situation like this. What could he do? Wake her up? His arm reached out, and poked her shoulder. Nothing. He repeated, nothing. He lightly pushed her arm, nothing. Unconscious, he thought. He sat down next to her, holding his wound on instinct as he waited. Waiting, waiting was all he could do here. He looked up at what he presumed would be the sky. He began to miss the normal world more and more as he waited in the silence. The clouds, the sun, the grass, all so beautiful in hindsight. All taken for granted. He never realized how much he took it all for granted. He felt disgusted with himself. How long had he gone without appreciating the world for what it was? Thinking more about himself only strengthened his sadness. The silence of this place only let his mind fill it in, and it felt like he was screaming at himself.

So he tried, tried to forget about it all, trying to wipe away the fact that the normal world even existed, but it wouldn't. Permanently stained into his mind. Stained... forget... his mind began to conjure up memories to fill in the hole in himself that he had created. Memories. However, he couldn't think of anything. What? How is this possible? He tried again, to think about his life, his childhood, anything. His mind was as blank as the world he was inclosed in. He could remember the natural world, but why not personnel memories? All of this served to confuse him further. He looked down at himself again, beginning to second guess everything. What is wrong with me? He couldn't answer, he couldn't!

His bloody hands trembled with fear, believing he was going insane, he probably was. He closed his eyes, trying to push aside his fears to remember, remember anything!

What's my name?
What was my job?
Was I married?

He couldn't answer any of it. Something loomed over his head, mocking him. Why can't I remember?! He held his head, and cried in agony, wanting to just remember! He jumped onto his feet, and cried out into the abyss, pleading for his life.
"WHERE AM I? LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!" His voice echoed out into the unknown... there was no reply.
"I'M NOT DEAD! I EXIST! I'M HERE! SOMEBODY PLEASE!" He cried again. He wiped his hand over his wound. He grudged, and slowly tore away at himself without thought. He hacked, gagged as the muscle and tissue ripped open. His fingers cut in deep, hooking onto a piece of muscle. With one pull, he ripped the piece out of his body. He screamed in pain, but he didn't care. Blood and mucus oozed from the cracks.

He lifted the muscle, he held it high, as if presenting it to god himself. "LOOK AT THIS! I'M FLESH AND BLOOD! I EXIST! I-I'M REAL!" His voice grew louder, booming out into the darkness. No reply. Tears began to form, as he threw the skin away. He let out a loud cry of despair. His knees felt week. His new wounds pulsed with a rhythm of pain. His fingers dripped with his own blood, seeping into the wrinkles and cracks of his hand. His stomach ached, tossing and turning. Maybe he was going to die this time.

He fell to his knees, and groaned as he caught himself with his hands. He coughed, and felt like he was choking. He felt liquid hack up from the back of his throat, gurgling until it was coughed up. Blood, leaked out his mouth, pooling on the ground below. His wounds began to take their toll. He cried for god, he cried for something to end it.

He held his head once more, his vision seemed to have changed, only seeing in a tinted deep shade of red, as if blood was caught in his eyes. He tried to adjust, but something caught his eye. Something not previously there before. A silver kitchen knife, just 2 meters away. It glistened from an known light source. It nearly looked beautiful. He stared at the object, holding the hole in his gut. With one arm, he pulled himself closer to the knife. The wooden handle was cracked in several places, and the metal was dented.

His hand, against his will, picked up the knife. It felt good. The palm of his hand became strained as he held a firm grip on the handle. He pushed himself onto his knees. He stared at the knife, letting go of the wound without care. The reflection in the metal stared back at him with remorse, and guilt. Guilty from what? He could hear a thousand voices calling out to him, chanting in his mind, pushing him closer to the knife. His lip quivered with sadness, but he didn't know why. Something loomed in his subconscious, begging and pleading to be let out, but he couldn't figure it. He jerked his eyes away from the knife, and stared up into the black sky, "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT OF ME? IS THIS WHAT MY FATE IS?" He called out. The silence reassured him that this was the only solution. He began to weep, hands trembling as he held the knife over his wrist. He needed to end this, he had to! End this horrid nightmare! His vision became blurry with tears, as the blade began to press against skin.

A soft hand suddenly grabbed the hand wielding the knife, and tossed it to the side. He jerked his hand, desperately trying to fight against the force he couldn't see. He felt the knife slip away from his hand, eventually leading to a sharp CLANG against the floor. He pushed himself away desperately, his mind not processing what stood before him. He slammed his back against the floor, and continued to back up as his vision restored.

The young women previously unconscious, now stood before him, staring at him with wide eyes. She hesitated, and slowly began to back away, holding her hands out to show she meant no harm. He only watched in horror. What had I done?