Tabula Rasa
Tabula Rasa
She wakes up one morning without a single thought in her mind. It is just blank, as if all her memories have been wiped from existence. She can’t remember where she is or who she is for that matter. All she knows is that she is lying in a bed with soft pillows under her head and a blue comforter wrapped around her.
She tries to get up, slowly easing herself onto her elbows. She takes another look around and notices her surroundings. There’s a nightstand by her bedside and a vanity set across the room. Curiously, she steps out of the warm sheets that she has become comfortable with and walks to the mirror. She examines girl staring back at her and could find no recognition. There is nothing in her eyes that seems familiar in the least.
However, as she shifts her gaze to the rim of the looking glass, she catches sight of a photograph. It is of a girl laughing. It seems oddly familiar, but, as she holds it beside the image of the girl in the mirror, she understands why. The only difference is the happiness on film where the reflection only holds confusion. This is her, or perhaps she is the girl in the picture. But she can’t recall when she took it or really if she actually ever did.
She starts to cry because it’s all starting to become too much for her. She can’t remember anything, not even who this girl is. She falls to the ground in a crumpled mess when a door opens. She hadn’t noticed a door there before, but now it’s right there, open before her with a woman standing in the frame.
With the tears blurring her vision, she is only able to make out bits of the woman’s appearance. The woman is dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt with her hair swept back in a messy bun. After a few moments, the woman cautiously enters the room with kind, fearful eyes as if she is afraid of the weeping girl on the floor. She approaches her with an embrace and says, “Sweetie, did it happen again?”
The woman pulls back hair from the girl’s tear-ridden face that is staring back, mouth agape, searching for words. After stumbling with a few, she manages to display a cohesive thought, “You know who I am?”
The woman laughs at her and replies, “Of course I do, Sweetie. I can’t believe this has happened to you again. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and ready to leave?” She gets up and leads her out the door.
Everything takes a moment to focus. It goes from black to gray to white to Technicolor. It’s as if someone has just splashed paint on this canvas called life. The walls are colorful and the pictures hung on them are vibrant and full of life. The objects around her, which had just been an empty black void, are so realistic. She hesitantly puts out a hand to feel if they in fact are. The woman turns around and catches the look of curiosity on her face.
“What are you thinking, Sweetie?”
She looks up at the woman but doesn’t move her hand any further away from the walls and photographs. “Is this all real?” She asks.
“They are as real as you are.”
The woman keeps walking along and she takes that as a hint to follow her. In front of her, the walls continue to materialize in the same black-gray-white-Technicolor pattern. She can’t believe her eyes. It’s all so beautiful, so unreal. But it is real. It’s as real as she is, the woman had said.
The woman opens these large double doors and announces to her, “Welcome to the Storage Room.”
As the room comes to life, it appears as if the lights are turning on one by one, brightening a completely white room. She is speechless. The room is gigantic and entirely empty save for a computer with a hand reader.
“What is this place? It doesn’t seem like a storage room.” She questions in complete disbelief over the beauty and overall unnatural whiteness of the room.
“Well, Sweetie, it’s where we’ll be storing you.”
She looks up at the woman confused. “I don’t think I understand.”
The woman makes her way over to the only object in the room and begins, “Sweetie, didn’t you wonder why you don’t remember anything? You had asked me if I had known who you are, but the more precise question would have been whether or not I had known what you are. And, indeed, I do. You are nothing more than a thought, a mere forgotten memory, my dear. And right now, I must clear the mind of those excess memories. It’s time for a clean slate.”
The woman grabs her hand as she protests and tries to run away. But the woman is stronger than she and manages to get a hold of her wrist. She places it down on the green palm reader on the computer. She begins to scream as the woman laughs maniacally.
“Sweetie, you cannot escape Tabula Rasa.”
She tries to get up, slowly easing herself onto her elbows. She takes another look around and notices her surroundings. There’s a nightstand by her bedside and a vanity set across the room. Curiously, she steps out of the warm sheets that she has become comfortable with and walks to the mirror. She examines girl staring back at her and could find no recognition. There is nothing in her eyes that seems familiar in the least.
However, as she shifts her gaze to the rim of the looking glass, she catches sight of a photograph. It is of a girl laughing. It seems oddly familiar, but, as she holds it beside the image of the girl in the mirror, she understands why. The only difference is the happiness on film where the reflection only holds confusion. This is her, or perhaps she is the girl in the picture. But she can’t recall when she took it or really if she actually ever did.
She starts to cry because it’s all starting to become too much for her. She can’t remember anything, not even who this girl is. She falls to the ground in a crumpled mess when a door opens. She hadn’t noticed a door there before, but now it’s right there, open before her with a woman standing in the frame.
With the tears blurring her vision, she is only able to make out bits of the woman’s appearance. The woman is dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt with her hair swept back in a messy bun. After a few moments, the woman cautiously enters the room with kind, fearful eyes as if she is afraid of the weeping girl on the floor. She approaches her with an embrace and says, “Sweetie, did it happen again?”
The woman pulls back hair from the girl’s tear-ridden face that is staring back, mouth agape, searching for words. After stumbling with a few, she manages to display a cohesive thought, “You know who I am?”
The woman laughs at her and replies, “Of course I do, Sweetie. I can’t believe this has happened to you again. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and ready to leave?” She gets up and leads her out the door.
Everything takes a moment to focus. It goes from black to gray to white to Technicolor. It’s as if someone has just splashed paint on this canvas called life. The walls are colorful and the pictures hung on them are vibrant and full of life. The objects around her, which had just been an empty black void, are so realistic. She hesitantly puts out a hand to feel if they in fact are. The woman turns around and catches the look of curiosity on her face.
“What are you thinking, Sweetie?”
She looks up at the woman but doesn’t move her hand any further away from the walls and photographs. “Is this all real?” She asks.
“They are as real as you are.”
The woman keeps walking along and she takes that as a hint to follow her. In front of her, the walls continue to materialize in the same black-gray-white-Technicolor pattern. She can’t believe her eyes. It’s all so beautiful, so unreal. But it is real. It’s as real as she is, the woman had said.
The woman opens these large double doors and announces to her, “Welcome to the Storage Room.”
As the room comes to life, it appears as if the lights are turning on one by one, brightening a completely white room. She is speechless. The room is gigantic and entirely empty save for a computer with a hand reader.
“What is this place? It doesn’t seem like a storage room.” She questions in complete disbelief over the beauty and overall unnatural whiteness of the room.
“Well, Sweetie, it’s where we’ll be storing you.”
She looks up at the woman confused. “I don’t think I understand.”
The woman makes her way over to the only object in the room and begins, “Sweetie, didn’t you wonder why you don’t remember anything? You had asked me if I had known who you are, but the more precise question would have been whether or not I had known what you are. And, indeed, I do. You are nothing more than a thought, a mere forgotten memory, my dear. And right now, I must clear the mind of those excess memories. It’s time for a clean slate.”
The woman grabs her hand as she protests and tries to run away. But the woman is stronger than she and manages to get a hold of her wrist. She places it down on the green palm reader on the computer. She begins to scream as the woman laughs maniacally.
“Sweetie, you cannot escape Tabula Rasa.”