Blurred Childhood

Just Us

Don't stick my nose in places I don't belong, huh? Be a normal kid? I've only been around for, what? A week? And you expect me to NOT be curious about the past I seem to have completely forgotten? I even feel the need to know about little things, like for one, how I got all these bruises.

I waited until I heard the front door open and close again before leaving my room and going to the bathroom down the hall. One of the only things that have me convinced that I am an actual person is that I still need to eat. Which I guess means I still have normal human functions. So I've been in the bathroom a lot, but I've never bothered to look at myself in the mirror. Maybe a glance here and there, but I haven't thoroughly studied myself. I knew what my brother and parents looked like, so I just assumed I looked similar. And I saw myself in the picture, but that was a few years ago...

I hopped up onto the sink and looked into the mirror. I almost leaped back when I saw how strikingly similar I looked to Terry. Same nose, eyes... Speaking of my eyes, they were a dark blue, almost purple. Everyone said they used to be brown.

Another difference from the picture was that my face looked slightly more defined. Like I was older.

My attention turned from my looks to the big red mark on my cheek. I pressed against it with my palm, but the pain made me wince. It didn't look all bad. Neither did the ones on my arms. I took off my shirt and felt around for the spot on my ribs where it had hurt before, but there was just a small thin bruise. Maybe it was Chica who caused this. I wasn't sure what happened after I passed out, just that I woke up back in my room.

I caught myself looking deeper into the mirror, into my own eyes, like I was looking for something. They looked pretty mechanical. It might've just been me, but it looked like there were gears or something making up the pattern of my irises.

I hopped down from the sink and put my shirt back on. I guess these bruises will just have to heal. If they can, that is.

Assuming Dad had gone back to work and Mom had locked herself in her own room, I decided to look around the house. The only time I ever leave my room is for meals, so I'm not familiar with most of the house. There was the one time I toured myself through, but I've forgotten some places.

I found myself in the kitchen, not the dining room where I usually go, but the kitchen, which is a room over. I hadn't been in the kitchen for a minute before deciding I already liked it in here.

The room was dimly lit, but there were some lights strung along the counters and cabinets. Everything was neatly organized in some kind of drawer, and there were pictures on the refrigerator. I went to go get a closer look at them, and saw that they were more pictures of my family.

Some baby pictures, a really old photo of what looked like Mom and Dad when they were younger, and a cluster of pictures of Liz and I. I wasn't really surprised with this. Liz was actually dead, and I... must've been at one point. The kitchen must be another room of Mom's.

I opened the fridge and saw that even the contents on the shelves were organized in a way.

"Michael, what are you doing in here?"

I must've left the door open, or didn't hear Mom open it, but she saw me and quickly rushed to close the refrigerator door and pull me out of the kitchen.

"How many times have I told you to stay out of there?" She asked sternly.

"Um... none?" I replied.

"Yes, I forgot, no memory..." Mom muttered to herself. "But stay out of the kitchen, okay? I'm in there all the time making food and don't want anything to get messed up."