(Confession Time: I have no idea where this story is going or what I am doing. Still, I hope you enjoy it! Who knows? Maybe it will have an ending one day.)
Reflection
I don't know how I got here. I don't know who I am. People walk right past me. I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is. Do they know who I am? I just don't know. Does anyone at that camp . . . know?
****
A warm, summer breeze sweeps through the camp grounds. It breathes life into the leaves on the trees and creates ripples on the lake. It brushes against the cabins, the mess hall, the headquarters building with all its mystery. The wind sees it all, from the rolling hills and metal benches to the security and campers. Everything.
The campers, on the other hand, see nothing. It isn't that they are blind, at least not physically. They go through the grounds with no purpose, not even aware of each other. Some sit on the benches and stare at nothing. Most simply wander with a vacant look in their eyes. They are all different ages, yet in the same state. None of them talk. None of them think.
At least, that is the idea. Every so often, one or two will wake up from this trance. Those few are efficiently subdued by the guards and quickly sent to the headquarters building, never to be seen again. What if, for once, the guards didn't notice until it was too late? What if one, maybe more, woke up . . . and started to remember?
****
I sit on a bench, like I do every day? The cold metal bites at my back. When did these things get so uncomfortable? I look around, dazed, and suddenly see other people. They are all wearing grey. In fact, it is the same grey outfit for every person: sweat pants, a short-sleeved T-shirt, and no footwear. Weird. Why was I not aware of them before?
I stand up, confused. A tall, muscular man with a burly mustache and a navy blue uniform on watches me intently. There are others like him, watching those in grey. How long have they been there?
With my head down, I walk away and try to act like the majority of the people here; I try to act like those in grey. I don't know why, but I have the feeling being different will get me more attention from these people in the uniforms. Without a clear reason, I somehow know that more attention would be bad, very bad.
After some time, I look up from the ground to see a woman in maybe her mid-twenties staring right back at me. She has long, black hair that curls at the ends. It flows all the way down her back. Her eyes are a misty grey. She looks pale, unhappy, and sick with sunken cheeks and very defined facial features. Her limbs are like sharp sticks that jut out at odd angles. Her grey outfit is too big for her, and it is obvious that she is dangerously underweight. This woman seems to be slowly wasting away, like the wind could just blow her down. My eyes widen at the sight of her, and so do hers. The woman's body seems to shimmer. That is when I realize I am looking at a lake, and she is my reflection.
