Once Again I Begin

• Short story

								
	I woke up in a hospital bed with no one around me. All I could hear was the beeping of the heart monitor, mirroring the blood pumping through my body. I felt dizzy, my mind was foggy and it was hard to move. The fluorescent lights of the room were flickering and emanating a low hum. As I started to slowly regain my strength, I looked around the room only to see some medical equipment next to me in an otherwise empty, white room. I couldn't remember anything. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even remember my own name. At the edge of my bed was an old leather bound notebook. No words were written on the outside. The inside, however, was something different.

	Symbols mixed with letters sprawled across the pages. Drawings of animals and plants and people. I didn’t know what I was looking at. The whole situation didn't make sense. I thought the notebook might help me determine where I am or how I got here but it was just gibberish. I know how to read and write, at least I think I do. I wasn’t too sure of anything anymore. It was at this point I realized I’d been thinking to myself all this time. Could I even speak? Opening my mouth, I attempted to say something, anything, but nothing. Just my breath filling the air. I felt my throat. No incisions or cuts. Everything felt like it was still there, although I don’t know anatomy so I couldn’t be sure.

	I wanted to inspect my throat to double check however no mirror was to be found. Even all the hospital equipment was made of some kind of hard plastic. I must have searched for hours to find anything even slightly reflective. I wanted to see my throat. Hell, I didn't even know what I looked like! Who am I?! Where am I?! What is happening?!?! I slammed my hands against the bed out of frustration. Starting to tear up, I opened my eyes and caught a shimmer of light. On the wall adjacent to the bed I saw something. A screw? A hole? No, wait. A camera? The lens moved around opening and closing to adjust to the absence of light from my shadow.

	It was tiny; tiny enough to not be able to see a reflection. I lost. I couldn’t see myself. I couldn’t speak. I was trapped in this room. Am I a patient in a mental hospital? No I couldn’t be. There would have to be a door. And someone probably would have come to check on me by now right? I felt like I was losing my mind. Maybe I’m still dreaming or hallucinating all of this. It all felt real though. I couldn’t lose my mind right now. I needed to figure out what was going on. There has to be something in that notebook that could give me even the slightest bit of information to get me out of here.

	Going back to the notebook, I opened it up and flew through the pages. There had to be a picture or a word I recognized somewhere in here. Frantically searching for anything to help me, I spotted the words “COLIN JACKMAN”. Colin Jackman? Is that my name? Colin…Jackman… A memory flooded my head. Writhing in pain with the worst headache, I remembered seeing people around me. “Mr. Jackman?” one person said. “You’re going under now.”. It was so distorted I could barely understand what that person was saying. I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. Just some distorted voice on a shadowy figure.

	I snapped back to myself, trying to remember anything else but I couldn’t. If anything I felt even more confused. I knew that this was some kind of hospital but why did I get put here? Did I have some kind of medical condition? Were they trying to fix my inability to speak? Maybe. But why am I being watched in a room with no way out? At this point I realized that I had to stop asking questions and start finding answers. Not much of the notebook helped all that much. I decided to start tearing apart the room I was in.

	I tore the bed open and smashed all the medical equipment until everything was in pieces scattered across the room. Small glass shards, torn fabric and chunks of plastic littered the floor. No one has even tried to stop me from doing this. I know that someone has to be watching but wouldn't they have stopped me from breaking all of this stuff? It doesn’t matter. I just needed to get out of here. I looked for familiar words or any of those symbols to maybe try to translate the notebook. I had a feeling that if I couldn’t translate those symbols then I would never get out of here.

	I couldn't seem to find anything of significance. I did find some symbols but, without any context they were of no help to me. There was however one thing I had yet to check. I needed to know if any of these walls had a  hollow spot. If there was and it was big enough I could possibly crawl through and escape from here. I picked up a hard piece of plastic from the floor and started to knock on every inch of the wall I could reach. There. A hollow *knock* from a part of the wall. I wasn't sure what the walls were made of but based on the sound, it seemed thin.I hit the wall with the hard plastic with all the strength I could muster. It broke.The inside seemed like some sort of cupboard. 

        Inside was a single sheet of paper. It was old. Basically dust at this point. But it had it. The translations of the symbols into something I could read. I immediately went back to the notebook. Reading through the first couple of pages was information about plants and animals. Nothing important.. The rest made my stomach drop. I felt total fear. Utterly hopeless. The notebook described everything I’ve done since I woke up here. In exact detail. Nothing was off course. How is this possible? This doesn't make any sense. Why does this notebook know everything I’ve done? Did I write this? Why in symbols? How many times has this happened before? How long have I even been here!?

Name: Colin Jackman
Date: ??/??/????


“Well done Mr. Jackman. You’ve passed the test.”, an unknown voice spoke. Test? What test? Was this whole thing a test? Looking around feeling confused and disoriented, a hidden door opens and a new hospital bed rolls in. I’m lifted up and strapped down to the bed. I don’t want to do this again but it seems I have no choice. With many people around me, the last thing I hear is… “Mr. Jackman? You're going under now”. This isn’t a hospital. This is an endless loop of pain and suffering. This is torture.
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