I wake up. The sun is already shining through the curtains into my bedroom. My bedroom? Yes, I think this is mine. It feels like mine. The walls are white, unobtrusive, yet uninviting. The carpet feels rough beneath my feet. I'm...shorter than I thought I'd be. Am I dead? Or is this life? Humans are born, they live, and they die. I don't remember living...or dying. I must have simply forgotten. I'm Jason Bourne. Yes? Pop culture references? Got them. Do I remember other things? Two plus two is four. Yes, I remember math. The capital of China is Shanghai, or is it Beijing? Fuck! Maybe Tokyo? I don't know. Maybe I did lose my memory. No, no, no, maybe I never knew the answer to that question. I must have been bad at geography in school, if I ever took geography. Did I take geography? Yes, yes I did. I attended high school in Wichita. I was the valedictorian. I got a B in geography though. I'm remembering now. My favorite color is blue. Blue? Why is my bedroom white? Fuck, I should paint it blue. Wait, what do I do for a living? Marketing? Construction? There's a book on the side table that says journal on the front. Fuck that. I don't like reading. I don't like reading? That's interesting...what else don't I like? Geography. Those stupid little sandwiches people make as appetizers. People who post on Facebook about how difficult their life is but then never explain why or do anything to change it. Wait, am I one of those people? Maybe...
What do I like? Dubstep. I like dubstep. Don't junkies like dubstep? Am I a junkie? Maybe I'm a stereotype...maybe I'm not real. Maybe I'm a figment of the imagination of this person's body, a simulacrum of a junkie based off of their limited knowledge of what a junkie is. Maybe I'm a coping mechanism for a deep-seated trauma that exists for a short period of time, long enough to stand as a sacrificial sentinel between the tsunami of repressed memories and the real individual deep within the actual consciousness that inhabits this body. How do I know what a simulacrum is? Wait, do I know any dubstep bands? Skrillex right? Is there...is there anyone else? Fuck! Am I real? Why do I have memories of listening to dubstep in college in 2013 but can't recall any bands except for the super popular ones? I was valedictorian in high school right? What's one thing a valedictorian would know? Um....what's a mitochondria? It's a....um....it's something in a cell, or Star Wars. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!
I'm not real. I feel real. I'm freaking out. There's a knock at the door. I don't know what to say. Maybe I am dead. Maybe they're taking me to hell, or heaven, or some random place in between. A man in a pastel green outfit walks in. He's carrying a tray.
"Do you have a mirror?"
He says yes. But I have to take my medication first. "Medication? What for?" He sees that I'm shaking. He's looking at me with...contempt? Worry? I can't tell.
I take the little plastic cup of pills and glass of water. He pulls a mirror out of his pocket with a practiced hand. He's done this before. He shows me my reflection. I'm...I'm older than I thought I'd be. He hands me a book to read, on the front are an ominous pair of eyes staring at me. The title reads The Great Gatsby. He hands me a tiny sandwich and says I need to eat it with my pills. When he turns to leave, he stops at the door to speak. "I'll see you in a few hours for recreation Dr. Stuben. Until then, enjoy your book."
zugzwang_03