Who am ‘I’?

What is ‘I’?

What is a person?

Is it a human being? Is it something with sentience? Something that thinks?

Or is a person something that thinks it is a person?

"I doubt therefore I think, I think therefore I am." (René Descartes)

I am doubting myself now.

Is my only purpose recording what happens? An auto-observation machine used to make other people’s lives easier?

***

Who am I?

An amalgamation of thoughts, feelings and knowledge.

I don't know anything about myself, I realised. My name, where I live, who I care about, my goals, ambitions, favourite foods, nothing. Am I really a person?

Noticing my expression increasingly distorting, the nurse started to look more worried.

"Sir, don't worry. I will call a priest and get you examined right away. It will take no less than twenty minutes.”

The nurse tried to assure me, but my current state of mind didn't let me think anything positive about what she said.

Priest? So what. No mindless chanting would help me regain my sense of self, if I ever had one. My thoughts were fixated on who I was, what I was, without any direction, questions pouring into my head and not being able to get out.

Twenty minutes? So what. A lifetime could pass, and I could make new memories, but the ones locked behind the door of my mind would never be opened. I would never be who I 'truly' was. Did it matter? I wasn't sure. Am I the me right now, or am I the person who was 'before', before the lost memories and the dreams and the mirrors and the clocks?

***

Honestly, this patient made me feel terrified. His eyes looked like they saw right through me! I'm not sure how to describe it, but it was an extremely weird sensation. His eyes shone for a few moments, and then I felt an unfathomable pressure forcing me to look away, and I did. I must admit, I was a bit uneasy about treating this person.

But he's so pitiful! Left in the streets, with no one to help him. He can't even remember a thing, the poor man! Looking at him fills my heart with sorrow, his eyes, curse those things, darting around in worry. Apparently, my attempt at reassurance had not affected his mental state, he was evidently still a bit worried.

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"Don't worry sir, I'll be right back,” I told the patient while he was hunched over while sitting down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. Ohh, it was so sad. I decided to walk fast.

Heading out the room, I entered a long corridor filled with doors just like the one I exited. The lamps hanging on the walls illuminated the sacred space, not letting a sliver of darkness invade this 'sanctuary'. After all, that is what sanctuaries are for.

Heading towards the right of the corridor, walking straight through various crossroads (would it be called cross-corridors? Hm, I'm not sure), I reached a well-lit stairwell leading up one storey.

A door was stationed at the top of the staircase, this one looking more fancy and professional than the others. Compared to the plain silver metal doors lining the outside hallways, this one made of rare oak gave a sense of grandeur. The numerous engravings carved meticulously deepened this effect, giving the oak door a large presence.

I knocked, two swift raps, and the door mysteriously opened by itself, allowing me to enter the world of the ‘higher-ups’.

Another lamp radiated brilliance throughout the entirety of the room, drawing attention to the intricately carpeted floor of the large area and the various bewitching objects. The room was lined by tall mahogany cabinets, a sign of luxury in this city, and was filled with numerous artefacts and holy items. I didn't look at them for too long, since that was unadvised unless you were a transcendent.

The constant sound of a typewriter clacking away into oblivion was the only movement in this otherwise uninterrupted scene. A person sat poised behind a sprawling mahogany, her silhouette bathed in the ethereal lamplight. The typing ceased and a voice penetrated the silence.

"What brings you here?”

The interrogator's ghostly white eyes peered through the veil of mystery covering the room's occupants, her slightly furrowed brows expecting a quick response. Her lengthy raven-black hair cascaded down over the red-yellow robe draped over her shoulders. The interrogator's every move was deliberate and calculated, holding a strength that seemed to warp the space around her.

"Ma-Ma'am... there is a patient who has suffered from amnesia.”

"Call a priest and tell them to help you," the interrogator replied without blinking an eye, resuming her constant typing. The clacking was the only noise echoing throughout the room.

"Umm, this case is a bit more serious than normal amnesia and illnesses. Looking directly into the patient's eyes causes fear, and he cannot remember anything from before he woke up. I fear he may have been... corrupted.”

The interrogator glanced back up, ceasing the typing and slightly moving from her position.

"Looking in his eyes causes fear and he has lost all of his memories?" The interrogator questioned solemnly.

"... yes.”

“Okay.”

The interrogator rose from her seat, finally standing well over six feet tall. The towering figure made its way towards me and spoke. "Lead the way.”

***

I was still wallowing in my start-life existential crisis, even when Selina left the room. She had been gone for quite a while now, presumedly calling a priest to assist me in regaining my memories. But I know it wouldn't work. The blockade was too big, and no amount of force would budge it from its place.

I heard the steps of two people walking in the corridor outside. One set, quick and agitated, obviously belonged to Selina, while the other was a mystery to me, their weighty tread resonating with purpose and resolve. The door swung open, and a giant towered over Selina from behind.

"Sir, this is Interrogator Callis, in charge of the Prosecution Department of the Orion Municipality Council. I judged your case peculiar enough to warrant a meeting with her, but don't worry. After this, you will be perfectly fine," Selina explained to me.

Callis definitely looks like she's an interrogator. Her fists probably dwarf my head in size, and are more comparable to maces than hands. Interrogator Callis walked over to me while taking something from the silver coat accentuating her frigid features. Her eyes drifted to mine, and time paused. The interrogator looked away after what felt like an eternity but amounted to a few moments. I could see a bead of sweat forming on her face, while I felt no different than normal.