I cant think of words to describe how I'm feeling. Lethologica? That's what I'm feeling now. But now I do know the word to describe how I'm feeling. I think I just created a paradox.
My limbs are quivering strangely. It's like that feeling when I've slept on my arm and it's dead but ten times that - no, a hundred times that. In fact my whole body feels really distant. I see splotches of read stuck to my eyelashes. The air smells like the musky scent of urine. It burns my nostrils a little, but that's the least of my concerns. I don't know what I am feeling.
The fact that I'm consciously thinking about it doesn't make it any better. What did Meera say to me again?
Breathe. Focus on one spot and feel the air as it goes in and out.
I don't feel any air though.
Feel the rising sensation of your chest as your belly fills with air and releases the pressure.
My chest is heavy, but it doesn't move.
Feel the blood rushing to your buttocks -
Shut up, Meera, your Ted Talk was trash. I cant feel anything right now.
Am I dead? But then, why am I conscious?
That's the last thought I remember having before I woke up here. I think I did die because I can suddenly diffuse through walls like I'm some hydrophobic molecule outside the plasma membrane.
What are those again? I think I remembered something but it's like I woke up from this strange dream. I think I know it but I don't think I do.
Right now I'm staring at a mirror. I cant see myself anymore. I don't remember who I am or where I am or how I got here. I know I am thinking in language but I don't know what I'm thinking. I feel like the wind, obscurely dancing around.
It's been four days. I know that because I saw the sun rise, and fall. I know that because I am some ominiscient being suddenly awake, but I don't remember what's going on. I am writing this here because I think I'm dreaming. Am I dreaming? What's going on?
I found these sheets of paper on the floor earlier. I am writing because I'm afraid I'll forget again. I am writing on paper but I have no hands. There is no ink. What are hands? What is ink? I don't know. I feel like there's a strange ball stuck in my throat. I'm feeling, I'm thinking. But I'm not anything. I don't exist. What the hell.
There's a door. And a wooden wall. There's a nail on the wall, and the marks of an old painting. There's a red substance on the nail. There's a body on the floor. There's blood all over her face. A gush of something overwhelms me. Nostalgia, almost. Her arms are bruised, purple. Limp. Like half cooked spaghetti.
There's some strange noise approaching me. Another figure walks through the door, past me. I have no mass, no tangibility.
What have I become?
YOU ARE READING
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Mystery / ThrillerShe knows she's dead, but it all feels like a forgotten dream. She's conscious now, aware of the world, but all that is left of her are feelings. She doesn't remember who she was and how she got here, but there's a man examining the body on the floo...
