A Slice of Fiction by Andrew Melton

Patient # 2342

Why? Why is it that I must endure such agony? Why must this all happen to me? Why is it that everyday people are blessed with having a normal day, except for me? Did I do something wrong? Why is it that I cannot get these thoughts out of my head, these memories? These are the memories that deteriorate someone’s brain. These are the memories that can kill a man. All it needs is a little bit of thought, and God awful memories such as my own. As I look into the cracked, stained, and bedraggled mirror, my mind is on a playback wheel, and these memories continue to haunt me. Everything is moving so slow, I cannot even walk straight or even see because the memories are covering my eyes. It’s like there's a movie screen caped over my eyes, and these torturous flicks keep coming back and back. I thought about all of it, and how everything seemed to be going great, the world was moving 200 miles per hour but someone had suddenly jolted the hand brake backwards and now I’m not moving at all. I’m trapped inside these walls of terrifying memories, but never the less I am still breathing. But why? Why is it that I am confined to nothing but a disgusting mirror and a windowless, horribly dirty room? I am no criminal, and I am no thief. But why is it that whenever I lose my thoughts and I do not even know myself and I end up back here. I lose my identity and then my memories of those times arrive.I am haunted until it happens again and then I am given even worse memories. But yet I am still asking myself why. I do not enjoy these memory losses but yet I do not even know why I am here. Who am I? What has brought me to this horrible room? Why? I look down and there is my answer. Stamped in bold print right over where my arms are constricted together. I am Patient # 2342, and now I know why.