I; Labyrinth

7; The Nightmare of your Dreams

Adrian Catena

I remember how suddenly the flames my hands were cupped around had faded in that very instant; that terrorising realization of further presences lurking besides me.

I tried so hard not to shout for help. In the end, I let out a tiny gasp deprived of all oblivous strength. Another two-way metaphor, it seems: strength I hadn't even known existed; strength which had had not even the faintest idea-completely oblivious to-the evil others in the room with me. Us, so should I say, since Jack has still not emerged from the puddle he fell into just fifteen minutes ago.

As I explained, however, time doesn't exist within a human mind, and we are travelling in precisely that location, namely Xara's beautiful, intricate inner-wellbeing. It is not well, above everything, and we are stuck in it attempting to locate the source of her mental deprivation.

I always ask myself where it comes from-disease, depression, confusion and helplessness. At least, I constantly ponder about how sudden it can all rear its head, or its frequency. How often is a person termed 'ill' by means of cognitive therapy? What is its frequency anyway? How many times does it appear in a lifetime? And why in life, after all?

Yet, all these questions are being strewn into yonder, the dark night...space and eternity, never to be reached again. I suppose at the least destiny will never grant my soul a chance to chase those thoughts in the direction I sent them. Whirling, spinning, tumbling...

Gone. Everything has been blackened out and I am alone. To be honest, alone without Jack. Where in the mind has he gone? Whispers gleaming. They whisper to me... I think, am thinking, am attempting to love.

 Enough! Where do all these voices come from?

 Without warning, my own mind steps back into the past by at least half an hour, despite the supposed inexistence of time here.

 I shut my inexistent eyes and feel my mind shuttering, like a film projector over a thousand years ago.

 Only a few minutes ago were I standing alongside my science partner, the Anglo-Japanese Jack Aomori. We were searching the walls of Xara Ellipsis'-worldwide famous psychologist-incredibly intricate human mind. It possesses much genius, yet very few have truly understood what that genius may involve.              

   They call it 'the tenth intelligence', found in only four human beings. Nonetheless, at a certain point in her juvenile, tense life as a human species, her 'tenth intelligence' began to show symptoms of damage somewhere.

 We, Jack and I, were sent into her mind through DreamSavers to acknowledge the happening of such a rare phenomenon, seeing it has never happened before.

 Despite all this, Jack has always criticised me. For what, however? I can point out all of the reasons: grammatical mistakes, poor logical 'reasoning' and clumsiness. Sadness wells up inside my lungs. I cared for Jack, yet he never demonstrated similar feelings towards me. He's older than me by eleven years-he contains much more experience in his own mind than I.

 Nevertheless, I believe I am speaking perfectly whilst in my own mind, projected by my inner conscience. So why do I speak with poor communication skills to others? Perhaps my mind doesn't fully connect to the muscles moving my mouth?                          

   I realise just how well I could be capable of communicating, mentally at least-if it weren't for the lack of confidence I held. Who is to blame in this case?

 Jack.       

 Where is he? I must locate his presence before everything around me ceases to exist.