Streams of Consciousness

Knowledge

        I realized that I was still in the same room. Still chained down. Have you ever been in a tight spot? Perhaps you had to get something from under your bed, or behind the couch. Or perhaps you were in a cave with a narrow path, thousands of pounds of rock and mountain surrounding you. If you have experienced such things, you now know how I felt lying in that bed. Trapped. Suffocated. Scared. Everything squeezes around you, your brain screams at you to move, to get out, and there are those jolts in your stomach when you can not move, even if for a second. That was the feeling of desperation I felt for the next few hours, the inability to move, to get out, to be trapped, forever.

        Finally, the soldier came into my room, and turned on the light. Today, I took a good look at him. He stood with an undaunted confidence, his eyes sharp and alert, his body taut and rigid like a wooden board. He had extremely short blonde hair, and a large scar crossing his eye. He seemed like a man of mystery, yet behind his soldierly demeanor, he had the soul of a father. I knew this man from somewhere. It seemed like he regarded me with a brotherly bond, as if I asked him to go into battle with me, he would gladly. Then a name popped into my head.

        "How is your son Pete?" I asked him. He looked at me, startled and taken aback.

        "They told me that you would have knowledge beyond your own understanding," he said quietly, and weirdly enough, normally. It was like he dropped a facade. No more yelling, no more weird voice inflections. Just a strange calmness.

        "Please, tell me what is going on!? Why can't I remember anything? Why do I have strange dreams? Why am I chained down?" I asked, the questions spitting from my mouth and my mind swirling.

        "I can't divulge that information sir. The doctor will see you in a bit, and he will give you the answers you ask for," the soldier responded.

        "Lance Corporal Hooper?" I asked.

        "Call me Brian," he said.

        "Brian? Can you undo these chains?" I asked him. He nodded, undid the chains, and left the room. I sat up, and walked towards the bathroom. It was a small and quaint little area, with a toilet, a bathtub with a shower curtain, a sink, and the most important part, the thing I went to look for, a mirror. I looked at my face, and was interested to see the boy staring back at me.

        My face was fine and chiseled, as if a great artist had a vision of a pubescent boy and went to work on a marble statue. My eyes were sharp and piercing, yet mischievous, with barely visible dark circles under them. They were a marvelous green, the green of the trees and the grass, a green that entices you and draws you in, yet strange and poisonous. My hair was short on the sides, yet long and brown on the top, a mix between curls and waves.

        "Mr. Graves? Are you in there?" I heard a man say with a knock at the door.

        "I'll be right there!" I said, and with one last look at my face, I exited the bathroom and opened the door. Standing in front of me was a strange doctor. His skin was ghoulish and a pale white. He looked rather sickly, like death itself. He had the look of disease eating him up, inch by inch, his face sunken and swollen, his body skinny and famished.

        "Hello! It has been such a time since I've seen you last," he said.

        "I've never seen you in my life," I said, stepping back from the door.        

        "Of course you have! You just don't remember. You have a strange case of retrograde amnesia. Sit on your bed, and tell me, what do you remember?" he asked, pointing to my bed.

        "I... I remember... names. Hudson Graves, Hudson Graves Jr., Maria, Jack Graves, Sofie. They all were my parents. And I dreamed last night of this beautiful redhead girl. And I knew Brian's son's name. I think I could remember more, but it is like a fog is hanging over my brain. I looked at my own face earlier and didn't recognize myself! Who am I?!" I asked desperately.