The Insane Boy

Chapter 2 - The Compound

There was a feeling of falling. The ground shattering beneath my feet and the lingering smell of burnt flesh.

Then black.

I wake up shivering. Soft synthetic sheets are tangled around my legs, and my hair is plastered to my face with cold sweat. I run my hand through it, comforted by the short, choppy style.

Why is that so comforting?

It feels familiar. Sitting up, I find myself staring at a white wall, smooth and slightly reflective, as if it’s some sort of plastic. This room is plain, with only a simple white cupboard in the corner and the mattress I am lying on, held above the ground by a basic frame. No windows, only a plain white door without a lock, and a mirror hanging on the back of it.

Curious, I swing my legs over the hard mattress and stand up. My feet are steady on the cool surface. The floor feels weird, too smooth beneath my soles as I walk to the mirror in long strides.

I do not recognise the girl that stands across from me.

I have never seen her. Her lean form looks strong and yet worn, tanned skin marred by thin scars across her body. She is pretty, definitely, but she still looks like a girl who has grown up within the wild. Or has fought hard to still be standing here. Fifteen maybe, with roughly cut short black hair that falls around her thin face, dark eyes wide and curious. Cautious.

Not me.

But I don’t know who I am, or what I look like. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. It is like half of my brain has been torn out of my head, leaving me with only fragments of my memory left.

Suddenly, I buckle over.

I am sitting on a rooftop, my legs dangling into the open air. Below me, a city rises in silence, towering skyscrapers of dulled glass, spotted with the occasional blackened shells of buildings destroyed in fires that burn out long ago. Despite the falling sun, no lights disturb the shadows. I am high, very high, but the sheer drop below me only brings a light smile to my lips.

Far below me, the streets are abandoned, derelict and scattered with rubble. It looks empty, but I feel at home in this place.

I reach out my hand and feel rough fingers interlace with mine. I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder, ignoring the biting cold.

 

I suck in the air in quick gasps as the memory, so beautifully sweet, leaves me until all is left is a feeling of undefined bliss. Gone.

I blink hard, trying to bring it back, searching desperately for that moment, but finding nothing. Sighing, I look back into the mirror, meeting my own drained eyes.

I realise with a start that I am naked. Suddenly self-conscious, I grab the sheet off my bed and wrap it around me before opening the cupboard. There is only black, grey and white clothing in it, all simple and practical. I grab a pair of underwear, black pants and a grey t-shirt, pulling them on quickly. They fit perfectly.

I glance around the room, suddenly noting the scent. It’s like a hospital, where the air has been filled with so many other chemicals in a bid to hide the scent of death.

I shiver.

Sliding open the door, I find myself standing in a room. A living area. It is sparsely furnished, with a black synthetic couch and a flat television in the centre, and an empty bookcase standing against the wall. On the left, a kitchen is connected with a glass table standing near it with rigid chairs tucked under. It feels bare, this room, like it has not really been lived in.