Status: In Progress
Where Is My Mind?
ONE - IN THE HOUSE
She sat staring, her eyes fixated on the porcelain toilet bowl. The cruor swirled in thick clouds, dark tendrils that reeked of iron and rancid toxins. This was the fourth time today that she vomited blood, and this time she had barely made it into the bathroom before it erupted from deep inside of her. It was getting worse. The last few days have been progressive of the same symptoms: she would catch a bad case of the spins and shakes before being forced to violently expel the contents of her insides, blood and acid mixed together in a spicy soup that burned her throat as it came up. Her breaths came in light gasps as she stared.
She couldn't remember anything. She had spent the last few days sitting in the same spot, thinking thinking thinking. Where was she before this? How did she get here? By god, she couldn't even remember her name. The house she was in had a familiar aroma, but she couldn't recognize the layout. She had woken up three days ago, dazed and confused on the floor, pulled from slumber by the shakes and suddenly forced to find the bathroom as quickly as possible to regurgitate.
Her body didn't feel right, though. When she had tried to run, it was as if she had never stood on those legs before. Her hands had gripped the walls in a crude manner that imitated a baby trying to balance itself the first time it walked. Even the sound of her voice as she heaved sounded wrong; her voice had sounded too low.
And now here she was, sitting by this toilet for the fourth time today. She hadn't even slept since she woke up that first day. She stood up, very slowly (she learned by now that if she tried to come up too fast, she would be pushed back down by the spins and the tornado in her brain would gyrate a little faster), and made her way back to the spot on the couch where she had sat, hardly moving, the last few days. She would continue to do what she had been doing continuously all this time in between the sickness spells: try to piece together what was happening. It had been a long process thus far. Her brain was moving a lot slower than she felt like it was supposed to. For these last few days, she would sit and stare at the wall, thinking thinking thinking.
It feels.... can't fit.... inside my body... This was the primary thought haunting her since she noticed the sun peek through the window for the first time this morning. The thought had come to her as the rays slowly crept up her body, warming her skin slightly and giving the room a soft orange hue. The warmth on her skin had felt refreshing, but also disconnected, as though the pleasant feeling of sunlight was an abstract concept. Apart from this mental declaration, she had been able to figure out a couple of things. First, she had seen a plain office calendar hanging on the wall beside the bathroom, stating that it was, in fact, October. Second, she had heard a soft mewing outside on and off the last few days. It took until yesterday for her to recognize the sound as a cat. However, it had not yet dawned on her to go outside and try to find it, or to go outside and search for any clues at all. No, instead, her zombie state had her planted on either the couch, thinking thinking thinking, or running to the toilet to throw up. She hadn't even had any food since she woke up.
My mind..... it feels too..... too small.. It was frustrating not being able to think. Her fists clenched as she felt her face grow hot. Why.... can't I remember? Why.... am I here? She wasn't even aware that her breathing had picked up pace and she was beginning to pant. WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER? the voice in her head screamed. And suddenly, her mouth opened and let out a bellowing scream of its own. It was her own cry of desperation and frustration, but it made her jump. She didn't recognize the voice, even though she felt it leave her body. For a moment, she sat in silence, then
"Why can't I remember!?" She yelled at the wall. Tremors began coursing through her body again, making her shake more and more violently by the second, but she held her place sitting upright on the couch. The anger bubbled up in side of her, blinding her eyes with fear, fizzle, and hot tears.
"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" She howled again, as loud as she could, her body now beginning to convulse before blacking out, falling into a laying heap on the couch.
She couldn't remember anything. She had spent the last few days sitting in the same spot, thinking thinking thinking. Where was she before this? How did she get here? By god, she couldn't even remember her name. The house she was in had a familiar aroma, but she couldn't recognize the layout. She had woken up three days ago, dazed and confused on the floor, pulled from slumber by the shakes and suddenly forced to find the bathroom as quickly as possible to regurgitate.
Her body didn't feel right, though. When she had tried to run, it was as if she had never stood on those legs before. Her hands had gripped the walls in a crude manner that imitated a baby trying to balance itself the first time it walked. Even the sound of her voice as she heaved sounded wrong; her voice had sounded too low.
And now here she was, sitting by this toilet for the fourth time today. She hadn't even slept since she woke up that first day. She stood up, very slowly (she learned by now that if she tried to come up too fast, she would be pushed back down by the spins and the tornado in her brain would gyrate a little faster), and made her way back to the spot on the couch where she had sat, hardly moving, the last few days. She would continue to do what she had been doing continuously all this time in between the sickness spells: try to piece together what was happening. It had been a long process thus far. Her brain was moving a lot slower than she felt like it was supposed to. For these last few days, she would sit and stare at the wall, thinking thinking thinking.
It feels.... can't fit.... inside my body... This was the primary thought haunting her since she noticed the sun peek through the window for the first time this morning. The thought had come to her as the rays slowly crept up her body, warming her skin slightly and giving the room a soft orange hue. The warmth on her skin had felt refreshing, but also disconnected, as though the pleasant feeling of sunlight was an abstract concept. Apart from this mental declaration, she had been able to figure out a couple of things. First, she had seen a plain office calendar hanging on the wall beside the bathroom, stating that it was, in fact, October. Second, she had heard a soft mewing outside on and off the last few days. It took until yesterday for her to recognize the sound as a cat. However, it had not yet dawned on her to go outside and try to find it, or to go outside and search for any clues at all. No, instead, her zombie state had her planted on either the couch, thinking thinking thinking, or running to the toilet to throw up. She hadn't even had any food since she woke up.
My mind..... it feels too..... too small.. It was frustrating not being able to think. Her fists clenched as she felt her face grow hot. Why.... can't I remember? Why.... am I here? She wasn't even aware that her breathing had picked up pace and she was beginning to pant. WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER? the voice in her head screamed. And suddenly, her mouth opened and let out a bellowing scream of its own. It was her own cry of desperation and frustration, but it made her jump. She didn't recognize the voice, even though she felt it leave her body. For a moment, she sat in silence, then
"Why can't I remember!?" She yelled at the wall. Tremors began coursing through her body again, making her shake more and more violently by the second, but she held her place sitting upright on the couch. The anger bubbled up in side of her, blinding her eyes with fear, fizzle, and hot tears.
"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" She howled again, as loud as she could, her body now beginning to convulse before blacking out, falling into a laying heap on the couch.