Author: CS1975 PM
The Journal is a story of a man who awoke one day in a small locked room with no memory. Join him as he finds himself and the answers to why he is locked in this room.Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery - Words: 809 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 2 - Published: 01-08-13 - id: 3090349
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Entry number one: Day and date is unknown
I'm not for sure how to start this. My name is Philip Brenner. Age? As far as I know I'm still twenty five years old. To be honest I'm not sure about that anymore. I've been awake for around thirty days. Strange thing is, I don't remember much about my self or my life before that. All I know, is that I woke up one day in a small room. A clean, very pristine room but small in stature. That first day was hell. I freaked like no ones business. I'm still a little un easy about my surroundings, however I have adapted a little. Today when I awoke I found a note book on a table. Not for sure why, but it had the word Journal on the cover. The pages where blank. So, I can only assume that this book is meant for me to fill in my thoughts. I figured what the hell. Might as well write how I feel in a book rather then just talk to myself. Who knows, maybe I can figure out a few things by writing. If I seem calm in my writings it's only a mask. I don't know who or what is beyond these walls, so no reason to give them any ammunition on my feelings.
I guess I will start with my surroundings. The room is small. I would compare it to a bedroom inside of a apartment. You know, not to big but comfortable enough. The room it's self is clean. hospital clean comes to mind. There are four walls surrounding me, white in color. No windows. There is one door but it is kept locked. Trust me, I check everyday. As far as decor goes there is done. No clocks, paintings or anything like that. There is a small stainless steel table with nothing on it. Another medium sized stainless steel table which I'm using as a desk at the moment, oh and my bed. The bed is small, I would say twin sized. The mattresses are nice and comfy.
Myself, I'm kept clean. How? I have no idea. In fact I really don't want to know. When I awake I feel fresh and smell pretty good. At first it scared the hell out of me. Just the thought of someone or some thing touching me with out my knowledge made my skin crawl. It's amazing what thirty days does to a person. Now, I kind of look forward to it. Does that make me sick? probably. There are no mirrors so I can't say how my face looks at the moment. By feeling my face I can tell I have a beard. It seems to be well kept. The hair on top of my head feels short, like a buzz cut. The clothes on my body are strange looking. To me they look like pajamas made out of a potato sack. Surprisingly, not itchy at all.
I do get meals. Three a day in fact. It's the only way I can keep up with time. Food is not that great. It's usually bland in taste and looks. Nothing to write home about. Important thing is that I'm getting food. I can tell when a meal is about to come. The room is filled with a purple mist. The smell reminds me of flowers. It takes a little while to take effect. When I awake there is a tray food on the small table waiting for me to enjoy. I use the word enjoy loosely.
Why am I here? I don't know. I have yet to speak to anyone yet. I have not been harmed in any way shape or form. In fact I've been taken good care of. Would love a better room and more appealing food but seeing as the spot I'm in I can't complain. That much.
I have no memory of my life or happing's before the day I awoke in this room. I could not say If I have any family. If I'm married or even have children. I could not tell you if I'm an important person or a pool boy. If I had any past loves or favorite hobbies. In all honesty I don't even know if my name is really Philip Brenner or if I'm really twenty five years old. One day on one of my food trays sat a note. The note read "your name is Philip Brenner and you are twenty five years of age." That was it. That's all I can go by. It sucks. Hard. I can only hope one day things are made clear to me. Until then, I will just keep writing in my journal.
Well I must end this entry for today. I just got a sent of flowers. Must be food time.