|What Am I
Author: Moroni of the Mount of Ro PM
I don't feel right. There's something wrong. Will I figure it out in time?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Drama - Words: 398 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 04-30-06 - id: 2164742
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
What am I …
I'm wandering slowly down the street, only dimly aware of the drizzle and the cold. I don't feel right ... Though I can't explain exactly why. The wind blows my hair into my face, and I move my hand up to brush it away. My perception seems slower that my actions, and I finish the movement a second before I finish processing it in my mind.
With each turn of my head, a wave of dizziness washes over me, and I have to fight to remember who I am, where I am, and –
What ... I am doing.
I stumble slightly and the question exits my consciousness as I regain my balance, the dizziness washing over me again.
I move my eyes back and forth, scanning the landscape in front of me, and I realize that my brain takes a bit longer to catch up to my eyes, and just looking around reminds me of playing a computer game with bad graphics.
I feel strangely removed from my body, and I'm sure I should be more worried about my strange condition, but somehow I'm not.
I see a purple flower on the street, but as I bend down to pick it up, it disappears. I look behind me down the street, expecting to see it blowing in the wind, but nothing is there.
Am I hallucinating?
I begin to ponder the question, but the thought is slippery, and it slips out of my mind quickly, just as the earthworm I am holding in my hand slips through between my fingers.
I was holding an earthworm. I don't remember picking it up.
I stand up again, growing accustomed to the dizziness, and I keep walking, knowing it will pass.
This time it doesn't.
Something is wrong. I should be scared, but I'm not. My pace slows as I begin to wonder. Who am I? Where am I?
What ... am I doing?
I begin to fall forward, the dizziness overwhelming me.
I don't feel myself hit the pavement. I don't hear the sound of my body cracking against the concrete. I don't see the blood mingle with the rainwater as it flows down the street into the gutter.
I wonder if I'll remember when I wake up: who am I? Where am I?
What ... am I doing?