When I opened my eyes I screamed in pure terror. What I saw was a monster. A face twisted beyond imagination, its features almost invisible, and its body looked burned and blackened like it just came from hell, a one-armed nightmare. Yet that monster also screamed in terror and as I backed away it seemed to mimic my movements. I scrambled back, as quick as I could. But it seemed as if I moved through the mud. My movements were sluggish and slow. But I kept backing away nonetheless. Uncaring for why I felt that way. I was far too scared.

Then... suddenly I stopped backing away. I physically could not move anymore. And my eyes were compelled to look at the monster, forced to look at the monster. Try as I might but I could not focus my sight elsewhere. Like some morbid curiosity took hold of my thoughts and bound my gaze to the horrifying sight. But I knew that it was something more. The strange compulsion and the physical inability to even lift a finger pointed to a greater cause. I never tried looking at the monsters I ran from. I wasn't curious enough to risk dying for the small knowledge I would get from a good look. But the glances I did get scarred my mind and infiltrated my dreams ever since.

Paining me far more than the slight annoyance I had at the gap in my knowledge. I'd rather never have seen them. And in a way, it seemed that I was lucky to lose my memories. Probably forgetting even more horrifying moments. And as much as I wanted to know who I was I didn't want the pain that remembering brings.

I don't want to look at that thing, but somehow I was.... forced to keep looking. I didn't who or what forced me to look but I was sure it wasn't me. Suddenly I felt something entering my mind and I tried to desperately block whatever wanted in. Yet I failed, I couldn't physically grasp what was entering and thus I couldn't block it. I couldn't close my eyes nor could I see it, to begin with. I didn't know where it was coming from. Like an invisible leak that I couldn't plug. So it slipped through. Massive amounts of overly detailed concepts and images started burning themselves into my mind. All of them so foreign that nothing of what I knew came even close to anything that was even remotely similar. Unable to use anything of reference to try and somewhat guide the flood to a place it could be filtered, a place where it could be stored, to a place where it wouldn't hurt. But like an uncontrollable beast, I couldn't force it to follow a predefined path, let alone forcing it to follow a path that never existed to begin with. And it quickly started to rampage my mind. Jumbling up any other string of thoughts it came across.

The flood of information kept ramping up even more after the initial leak and almost instantly my head started to hurt and I started screaming... again. Or at least tried to. There was no sound that escaped my mouth, just as there was no way for me to stop the information from flooding my brain. That didn't mean I stopped trying to scream even if it didn't help relieve the pain. And as more and more information flooded my mind it only started to hurt more and more.

It didn't take long for it to reach a point where it felt like my head would literally explode. At first, I thought it would eventually stop or at least slowdown, but somehow the seemingly infinite flow of information didn't seem to stop anytime soon. I started to grow scared. Not because my mind would explode, but because it would keep feeling that way until it exploded. But there was no way to actually have this thought. Thoughts were too unstable to get even near the point of completion. No... the fear I felt was deeper than that. It was something primal, its something my body emanated when it felt as it was close to the edge. It felt close to a limit a normal mind never would've thought about. A limit that it wasn't supposed to reach. The fear was more prickly than the cold it normally seemed to be. Pure and endless panic, that's what it was.

But even when I was overwhelmed by all the pain it was impossible for me to outright ignore exactly what was entering my mind. To ignore something directly interfering with my thoughts. But ignore wasn't the right term, it was more like an unknown language that if listened long to enough, one could grasp its general meaning eventually. And there was no way to not think about something that burned itself in my own brain even if I didn't want to.

Maybe if I hadn't listened I would have saved myself from pain. But I don't think that there is a way to ignore a sound that didn't need to be heard for it to be felt. Somewhat deep in my mind I knew that this was no memory, that this was no dream. But I grabbed on the hope that it was, that I could wake. I held on to something that I knew wasn't there. Logically I would've known that it would be futile but you never instinctually stop trying to live.

Somehow I could pick bits and pieces of the information out of the now burning sea that's my mind, somehow understanding a few words of a language I never heard. It was something like how I remembered Englisch just on a far more massive scale. It wasn't refined and there seemed to be no halt, no fluctuations in speed to give my brain even the slightest time it needed to cool down. Even as close as it seemed to be to the language I knew it was more, it felt more... raw, more chaotic... more pure. Like it was spoken directly to my brain. I already knew it wasn't sound, as it had felt like thought from the very beginning. But I started to think that they weren't my own. or at least weren't anything like my own. The wandering thought hidden under the flames of pain was never able to sprout to sizeable enough for me to see. Constantly burned down the second it grew out of its soils.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

I was mesmerized by the fires blazing in my mind. Watching them dance a dance that told me about their names and thoughts, a dance I couldn't dance nor understand. A dance that you can see but never understand what it speaks. Words that mostly translate to meaningless chaotic agony. But sometimes I felt like I could make out the slightest words, a hidden meaning. Even the slightest differences in tone were glaringly obvious and the longer I looked at the inferno the more I could actually 'see'.

Even if I consciously didn't understand almost any of it, it is impossible not to unconsciously pick up on the meanings that were directly sent to me. The moment I formed that conclusion was exactly the moment when the flow of fuel halted. My mental state hadn't cooled down enough for me to be elated. It felt like my mind had just melted and any thought I formed was a mess of pain and new unrecognizable concepts that were meshed together with things that also didn't make sense.

I don't know how long I was in that state of mind but eventually, I cooled down. The fire slowly smothered out, unable to support their own dance. Slowly my ruined mind cooled enough to start solidifying thought. My mind somehow wasn't molded to bear any hint of madness. I was just confused and... sad.

The fire was never supposed to be here. The fire KNEW it wasn't supposed to be here it just leaked. It was like it had a goal and I was in the way. In the way of a place where I couldn't reach. It searched for an exit I didn't have. I don't know exactly what the fire is or what it wants but the fire sang of home, it sang of me. It sang of a coming change I didn't know was coming and danced to a story I never read.

I never really focused on why I could see when I was supposed to be blind. Being able to see was strange but apparently I never even looked, or at least I wasn't looking with eyes. Curious I tried 'looking' at my arms and although I did see something. They weren't exactly the arms or arm I expected to see. I was looking at some vague smokey manifestation of my arms. Probably the reason why moving felt so strange as my entire 'body' seemed to be made of the same smokey stuff.

I don't know why or how I locked in place but what I did know was that whatever caused me this pain was far too close for comfort. I glanced at my... body and snickered. I made no sound but it was the thought that counts. "Monster" I had just recently called myself. To be so scared to death of my own body was pretty funny but to associate myself to something that's been the bane of my life for as long as I remember was sad. I never bothered with how I look but to see how I actually ended up like...

Now that I think about it, how was I burned? I boiled fish before and it never looked anywhere even remotely close like this. Maybe it was some other liquid. It could be a lot of things actually. At that moment I wasn't in the best state of mind to debate about what liquid burns flesh in what way. Even if I decided that that would be more important than figuring out ways to survive or... avoid the painful death. I wouldn't know what liquid burned me because I couldn't see or taste the liquid. And it's not like I know a lot of different liquids that burn flesh.

But to be honest, jumping back in the pool wasn't the best decision I made. Not because I actually failed in achieving what I wanted but because of the actual decision to just jump back in the boiling... burning liquid. Which would probably even bring me more pain than some other options, and I'm not even sure that it would've killed me. Not like it was a descision, in my rush I didn't think about what direction I jumped in, and jumped the wrong direction. But maybe that was the best outcome, the amnesia that it left with me gavc me some time to atleast think before I did anything rash. And I'm pretty sure it saved from a lot of painfull memories considering I remember far more summers than winters. Which is a lot more noticeable when you really think about it. A lot of things about that situation were confusing; where were the rocks that fell down with me and why did the floor I laid on even break. Was it already weak to begin with and did the monster banging on the outside of the cave just break it? And how the water reached high enough to even enter through the crevice anyway. Where am I even?

Am I dreaming? It feels like a dream. Well, there's no way this is real so it has to be something else. There is no way that the... information that forced itself in my mind was made up, I'm sure it isn't fake. Or at least the tiny bit I understood does look like it's real. Memories flooded my mind again. The headache I had only grew when my memories tingled my badly burned brain. But when I looked through the small spike of pain I saw what they contained. I knew I had lost some of my memories but I didn't know I lost so many of them. And I was glad I lost them for a while. But now I once again remembered why the scars were on the places they were. And why I didn't want to look at the monsters.

I cried. I never cry much but sometimes I just do. I didn't feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and it only confirmed that this was one big joke. I looked at my... other body and cried just a little harder. It saddened me even more that I never even thought of it getting better, that the hope that was supposed to comfort me was nowhere to be found.

You wouldn't notice any change on my face or presence nor would you see anyone crying. There wasn't any real face to see. There was no sound or sign that the weird black smokey ghost was crying. I don't know exactly how or what I was looking out from if my real body was right in front of me. But even without the necessary brain, it didn't seem to inhibit my ability to feel sadness... or agony. I don't even know if the pain I felt came from my body or from whatever this is or from my actual body.

I couldn't see the future, but I could fear it. A fear-based on a very real path I see myself walking. A road to somewhere I will but don't want to end up. I don't know whether the best choice is to walk the road to its end or stop along the way when I still can. I don't know what stopping would entail nor do I know when the road will near its end. What I do know is that when I stop I spit on every scar I have. I would spit on all the effort I ever put in overcoming the obstacles between me and my survival. I would spit on the proof that the struggles I had weren't in vain. Why fight battles to the death, when you will surrender your life before you even fought your last? I know I will fight my last as it is inevitable but dying before that is unacceptable. At that thought, something deep in my chest clicked.