This feeling is intricate, complex, mind-boggling, and most of all. Absurd.

I’m in a room that I identify as something that I own. Despite this conclusion I only see blocks of white accompanying me in a closed-off white box. 

I know what these boxes are supposed to embody. I take a look to my right to find a rectangular block that is registered to be my bed, reminiscing on its checker pattern; I also have the nightstand’s likeness overlap with that of an overly generic blank box meanwhile.

I’m losing my perception as well, despite my very little understanding of what I’m perceiving. As I continue my attempts at registering information, I know one thing for certain; stuff I am standing on what I would call a metaphorical sinking ship as the surroundings continue caving in on me. Except, instead of mere water; I am surrounded by darkness.

Though I call it darkness I don’t know what it actually is. It isn’t registering in my mind as an object I can process with my perception. I try to move, things like moving my hand or sticking out my tongue, but my body doesn’t respond to me at all. All of the mental force I could muster from the depths of my brain failed to even make my body twitch in the slightest.

As the darkness surrounded me; it spread a stone cold chill throughout the entirety of my body (I’m not entirely sure at the moment) as if it were toying with me, taking me apart and recombing me together on a molecular level with whimsy. At some point, the feeling could be likened to that of a snake slithering around its prey. The “Snake” showed its inherent dominance as the predator by it slithered slower, heightening the previously unperceived pain. It seeped into my organs as if it was venom itself sloshing away my organs. My eyes were the last to endure this sensation. It encompassed all of it I was left only with darkness.

As I lay in this inconceivable dimension I wait and sense a familiar touch. I’ve had access to this feeling for an entire lifetime, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it. I take to ponder what this feeling could possibly be as it expands through the reaches of my body.

This goes on for several minutes until I realize what this feeling is. I blow air through my newly formed mouth with my fresh lungs in a failed attempt to express my confusion with my current state. I come up with some weird line to try to describe it, but it honestly makes no sense. They must have not finished my brain yet.

Familiar darkness slathers my eyes; I then proceed to open them to have an overwhelming sight of new objects. My brain started reeling back from the pain of trying to process stuff after my “experience”. While my head was still pounding, refusing me the luxury of passing out, my senses honed themselves. My sight was the first to return to a somewhat comprehensible manner, even if it was paradoxically blurred beyond my comprehension.

My other senses begin to kick in as well. My skin relays to me the coldness of a stone table; I can also feel the little bumps and gaps indicating the presence of a pattern. Despite the enjoyment of a familiar concept, I have the instant reflex to try to get off it because my brain associates that my naked presence atop this table means anything but good news. Oh… I just realized that I’m not particularly robed or covered in any way. Oh well, there are more important things to worry about besides this. One such instance is my tongue begging for the taste of anything. Be it a first-rate meal or freshly cut grass, my taste buds desire to fulfill its only real purpose. To discern what exactly I put in my mouth. Let that be a quote for the ages to come and go. My sense of smell is preoccupied with the smell in the air to even complain about the abruptness of its existence. The room bathes in a particularly stale stench of alcohol bringing my nose to cringe in its presence as a form of protest. Lastly, my ears pick up the sound of a conversation.

“H###, #a# yo# h##r m#? I a# trying to s##ak to ##u. If you un###sta#d what I’m say##g pl#se #a#e a# e##o#t t# r##s# #o#r r##ht ha#d,” spouts the blur.

I can only partially understand what I heard. Some of the letters registered in mind but others didn’t. It is just like trying to sync up to a radio for a better connection.

“He cl###ly doe##’t under##and you do#t. Just r##eat yo#rs#lf like a brok## #eco#d u##il he can fin##ly und##sta#d,” the other blur retorts.

I understand more from this one indicating that my understanding is growing better as they continue to speak.

The fog-like figure states, “Hero, can you hear me? I am trying to speak to you. If you understand what I’m saying please take an effort to raise your right hand.”

The word hero instantly sends my mind for a whirl. I know what it means definition wise, but my mind doesn’t hold it in any other connotation besides a sad existence. What happened to me to foster this sort of impression? I then stop the man’s (my guess) voice, leading me to question whether my ears gave out or they just stopped talking. Was it something I did?

The slimmer being claims, “Well seeing as you’ve heard enough of this idiot, we will take you to your room to recuperate. Try to raise yourself to see if there is any abnormality we should be aware of.”

I take the lady’s proposal as it seems reasonable enough to me. Like computer just starting up; I control my hard drive in a sluggish manner. I attempt to simply raise my hands, a simple action by any means, to see if I can foretell the result.

*Thud*

It seems I foretold correctly. The two beings look at me with a bit of disappointment as if I let them down in some way. They begin to carry me to some place located elsewhere; I begin to piece their faces together. The first one to speak seems to be a male. He looks to be somewhere in his forties and holds slanted eyes, but still seems to hold a child-like demeanor with his crooked smile. The other is a female with an eternally unimpressed expression seemingly ice cold. I would like to point out that she isn’t really attractive but not horrendous either, much like her companion in that sense.

“It comes to my mind that you thought of something incredibly rude. Can you refrain from those thoughts,” remarks the lady.

I am left speechless, even if I wasn’t speaking earlier. The intuition of some people is something to fear, especially at times like these. It seems that wasn’t the only one I felt the chill as my carrier’s spine. The silence continues to dominate the atmosphere until something rises within me.

*Grumble*

“You can’t even control your stomach huh.”

She was quick to criticize. Yet I can’t even bring myself to open my mouth to retort. Is this what they refer to as an oppressive fear?

“If that’s the case it can’t be helped. I’ll take him down to his quarters and you can bring a plate of food,” says the more muscled fellow

I commend this man for his bravery. Even in the harsh storm of this conversation; He still thought to give me some nutrition. Though food can’t buy my complete trust it is certainly a good start.

“I refuse. I have to return to the lab to input my research,” responds the woman frigidly.

I can truly say that he did certainly put up an effort. I hear the man sigh as if this outcome was decided from the start.

The man goes on to say, “Fine, have it your way, Nina. I’ll just drop him by his bed and then come back with some possible grub.”

“You should have known this from the start, Ryan. Whatever, you corrected yourself in the end anyway,” one blur emotionlessly replies, what I presume to be Nina

Deciding to step on some verbal landmine, Ryan replies, “This personality of yours is the reason why you won’t ever get married.”

Nina, in turn, says, “Who said I wanted to get married? You know more than anyone that it isn’t even something on my mind.”

They continue to ramble on like lifelong pals. I wonder what that feels like? Why do I ask that? This goes on until my courier reached a door. He opened it, and plopped me on the bed like nothing and proceeded to walk out. Of course, he remembered to close the door like a proper gentleman.

“What the fuck is actually happening today? Where am I? What happened that led to this entire situation,” I say in complete disarray.

My innermost thoughts begin to spill from my mouth. I ponder on how to answer and I come up with my best answer. “I don’t know.” With that unsaid, I proceed to take the daily motions. My body seems to be more responsive than it has been for this experience. I raise myself to take in my surroundings.

I then state, “It seems my strength was gradually returning huh. I guess that explains why I couldn’t do much at the altar.”

I put power into my now energized legs as I begin to hobble to an object of reflective property: the mirror in the room. These kinds of feeling or event don’t normally occur without downsides; so I need to check for some unwanted side effects. I wobble some more until I realize that I’m right in front of my objective.

My vision displays the image of a naked fifteen-year-old. This is one of the unexpected side effects I talked about, though I can’t say that it is really too much of a disadvantage. This “youth” holds a plain face, blue eyes of the teal tinge, gray hair covering my head which holds a cleanly shaven face, an average body with no real muscle, and something that luckily remained where it should have been. Some scary suspicions have been cleared but confusion still remains. I remember that I had brown eyes accompanied by the hair of the same color, so this distinction leaves me with only more questions. The door creaks signaling its opening.

“Oh, It seems you got up,” says the aforementioned Ryan with a tacked on grin.

Silence engulfs the room to further accommodate the awkward atmosphere of the current predicament. I stand my ground without giving a response. He begins to speak.

In hopes to defuse the situation, he states, “It seems that you are confused about this entire predicament. It isn’t much but if you calmly sit down in the bed I can clear up some of your questions.”

I try to nonchalantly say, ‘I don’t have much of a choice in this though,’ which ends up translating, into a meek, ”Alright.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

After my short remark, I walk to the bed with a greater (attempted) steadiness than before. In order to get real answers, I need to play my part as well. I compose an aura calmness despite my mind’s state of turmoil. He sets the food on a table and then sits with me.

“Where would you like me to start? I know it should take more than just a quick explanation, but that is all I can offer you now,” Ryan states in a relaxed manner.

I divulge, “Can we start with where exactly am I? I haven’t really gotten the full scope here.”

“You are currently located in the capital of the United Minds, otherwise known as Checkmate,” said Ryan with a matter of fact tone.

I curiously ask, “Who exactly are you? You also seem to be nonchalant about my current disrobed state.”

“I am a royal scientist of the U.M. and you are my object of research, there won’t be any direct experimenting, but I am going to be observant of behavior, patterns, traits and the such,” responds Ryan with no care or response whatsoever to me being naked or otherwise.

Then I drop the big one by saying, “Alright then, now why exactly am I here in the first place?”

In a stern manner different from his previous distinction he details, “That will be answered tomorrow when you are presentable enough to be in front of the king. Your little interrogation is over, now you will be returning the favor.”

The thought to refuse him is quickly reduced to rubble as his stern face in the matter discourages any other action. His previously childish face holds a cold vibe to it. It is as if he is trying to tell me that if I don’t play my cards right I would lose my head.

“Fine, what is that you want?” I respond reluctantly, “It doesn’t seem I get too much stake in the outcome either way.”

“Wise choice. We will begin with the first question,” says Ryan going back to his childlike temperament. “What kind of world did you live in? It is hard to say I’m not curious,” He details with a childlike grin.

“Hard to say. We might have advanced our own respective technology but you guys seem to be from the Medieval period. You know, swords and the such,” I say.

Ryan proclaims, “Really? I guess our worlds must have developed differently because of some factors. Research shows that you guys usually come from worlds with no trace of magic anyway.”

I bookmark the word ‘magic’ for another time. He doesn’t seem too far off in his postulation though, I’m especially curious how I was just brought to this existence because my ‘modern’ science has yet to explain this entire situation.

“I guess it’s time for the next question,” said Ryan with a pinch of sorrow. “Do you still have all your memories? It is uncommon to lose your memories in the summoning process but it has happened before according to records,” adds Ryan uninterested, “Though Heroes, unscientifically, regain their memories by the end of their big journey.”

A bitter taste reemerges from hearing the word Heros again, still leaving me with a characteristic bad aftertaste. I do heed his words about memories and notice that some are missing though.

“I seem to have forgotten little details here and there, but I recognize nothing that should do much harm to me,” I hesitantly respond.

“If that’s the case could you tell me your name, I would like to at least know who I’m studying,” says Ryan.

“Sure…,” I bitterly smile saying, “My name is…”

I try to continue the sentence, but I don’t have the word for it, I’m missing the final puzzle piece. But my mouth continues to hang open and distribute an unexpected silence because I can’t finish my sentence. I am left in shock for I forgot my name. One’s name is something that should never be forgotten because it is essential to maneuver through society. Yet here I stand now nameless.

“I see you forgot your name huh. That will be a problem for the audience,” explains Ryan sympathetically, “I hope that your name comes back to you before the audience starts but if necessary… You might need to make a new name.”

I believe I tried to put an effort in subduing the expression, but I hold no doubt that I looked at him as if he were insane. I really couldn’t help it, but this only goes to show the importance of someone’s name: something I absolutely didn’t want to give up under any circumstance.

“I… understand,” resounds my mouth. I responded this way because I understood that I didn’t have the luxury to pick and choose.

Ryan seems to look at me one final time with pity enamoring his face. He lays down a pill leaving the words ‘If you have trouble sleeping.’ He somberly leaves in an attempt to prevent any further deflation of my ego.

I both focus, and force my eyes to monitor the pill that was cautiously placed on the nightstand. I feel the movement of my right arm and by the next blink, I see the pill placed in the center of my palm. I begin to wonder if I should take it, but ultimately decide against, leaving it under the pillow as if to put it under some sort of confinement to the end of a trial. I lay my head on the pillow to request my mind for some much-needed sleep. I stare at the ceiling for an uncounted amount of time until I pass out into the coma-like sleep.

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I open my eyes to see myself surrounded by bookshelves filled with a variety of books, scrolls, and scriptures as if I had spent an entire night in the library. I soundlessly move without making the conscious effort, my body is functioning on an autopilot of sorts. I continue upon countless corridors of texts, and works and I suddenly stop. My gaze becomes fixated on a single text, as it stands differently from all the other texts in its own pillar inside an unlocked box. I draw closer towards it. I hold a book that I can’t feel, only my sight functions in this state. I begin to sit down in crisscross applesauce and then I split open the book to reveal what is written in its innards, the words branded on the page.

I draw closer towards it. Opening the box with a draping unlocked glass; I hold a book that I can’t feel, only my sight functions in this state. I begin to sit down in crisscross applesauce and then I split open the book to reveal what is written in its innards, the words branded on the page.

I look upon the scribbles and my brain draws another portrait by every page, every letter. My brain pieces together my personal experiences like one would sew the hole of ripped jeans, instead of patching cloth it patches my memories. 

I remember multiple things: my rocky childhood, my first kiss, graduation from high school, delightful performances, and the delicate high that came from succeeding a difficult task; all of this was this was displayed in my mind like a film with an ever growing detail to it. It was a compilation of my life, that I so desperately needed in my great time of massive uncertainty. Parts of my life that I would forget as I turned the page.

Parts of my life that I would forget as I turned the page. It would go in one ear, right out the other. My frustration only grew the more pages I flipped through; the more I had forgotten.

I flip more and more pages, siphoning through memories that I wasn’t allowed to dwell on, as what I presume to be hours pass to find out my origin, my reason, me. Yet this book is just as cruel as everything else because it cuts off the moment I had the brush of what I am. It leaves me here in silence with a blank page. 

It couldn’t even give me an answer that I could properly forget.

Outrage inhabits my rationality. My body throws the book making the fallacy that this action of outburst would have solved the problem. My body fits itself into a fetal position to come with reality, while my sight catches my tears falling onto the floor. This continues for several minutes until my body decided to stop weeping. 

It pushes itself up from the floor gently to respect the floor that stood at its support and sets course towards the innocent book that was unjustly harmed by my sudden outburst of violence. I take a look towards the non-existent title located on the blank cover page of the book. I open it to flip the pages all the way to the end. I look at the blank page of the book and decide to finish the book, to give it a proper title. 

I look at the page and fill it with my own meaning, my own mind. My senses expand as evidenced the feeling of my lips mouthing the words ‘I know how to end it. My name is…’ The surroundings around me collapse to bring in something entirely new.

----------------------------------------

My eyes crack open to reveal the patterned ceiling I passed out to last night. My ears register the sound of knocking at the door. With a newfound drive, I find it within me to lift myself from the bed and answer the door. I open the door putting on my biggest smile asking what is it in a kind voice. When I receive no reply I release the strain of action on my face to see the face of a blushed maid looking downward angle 45 degrees. This is when the reality that has been ignored until now is brought to horrific attention.

With a forced smile, I strain, “TTTThhhaat’s right… I don’t currently have any clothing.”

“EKKKKKKKKKKK”, releases the maid in a natural reaction to the strange situation that unfolded upon her.

I would have screamed out loud too if it weren’t for the fact that I was already internally screaming. My mind works overtime trying to find the answer to this predicament and to crucify myself for letting things come to this in the first place. I must have continued to deem it unimportant because of those two’s lack of reaction to the subject! I really should have paid more attention because this bull shittery right here is what happens when you forget to be attentive! I stood still for the entirety of this experience with the expression of ‘Now I’ve done it.’ In this time, the maid arouses whatever dignity needed to stand in a more elegant manner.

“I was told to bring you to the tailor give you your suit for the audience,” informed the maid at an attempted calm manner, “Please follow me to see the tailor about your appearance.”

I decide to indulge in both our desires to quickly end this experience; I follow her through what would be my educated guess of a palace. As I continue to walk through the corridors no one makes a single fuss about my disrobed state. Does this make the maid, and I strange for overreacting? No. I quickly nod off that notion, as what this really means is that everyone else is crazy enough to accept this as commonplace.

We stop at a door, while I recount to myself that being naked in a palace isn’t big of a deal to ward off my uncertainty. The door creaks open to reveal a stylish clothed man (for the time) with a curly mustache that seems to finish his wrapping as some sort of archetype in a novel. He calls for me to come in with no reaction to my current disrobed state like the other.

I enter the room to find an assortment of different suits on display throughout the room to showcase its well-done craftsmanship. There are several garbs that catch my eye such as; a blue Chinese silk suit, some ceremonial African wear, and most of all: the modern suit and tie of my era.

“Please, choose any attire you like,” courteously states the tailor of great mastery, “You must dress to impress if you are to satisfy the Royal Highness’s palate of taste.”

Hearing these lines continue to confirm my strange suspicions, but my end goal is ultimately unchanged. I point at the suit of my modern times mainly because of my familiarity towards its design; I had to wear these a few times myself back in the day.

After finally putting on the clothing, I was promptly lead out the same way I entered in the first place. The difference lied in who was waiting for me when I got out because I no longer saw a blushed maid, but instead two staunch men in full armor with strange engravings. They stared at me, that was enough to substitute an actual explanation of the moment as they soon left to lead me to my next destination.

I continue to meander peacefully while they march rigidly until we stop any further movement at the steps of an enormous door. They signal me to open the huge door which made me think, ‘Me? Open that door,’ but sadly ignore the conception of negotiations. I push the door that soon opens itself; it only needed the intention of my palms, not by force.

My sight carves in the picture of the glaringly bright room: it looked as if someone liquidated all of the borrowed gold in the vault of America, and decided to coat the room in its entirety. I steady my sight to view the man sitting on the throne: he held an aged face of experience lacquered in a majestic beard and his flowing chestnut locks. This man held the attention of everyone in the room.

“Welcome Hero. You have arrived at my kingdom,” he smoothly stated, “You have been summoned upon us to fulfill your duty.”

“Your Majesty,” I say cautiously, “I know very little things but may I ask what is my duty.”

I would love to break down right at this moment just to show how tiring, frightening, and nonsensical this situation is, but for the sake of preserving my life, I have to proceed. You must never offend a great power, they will weigh their odds and decide whether to bring an end to your time on whatever planet. This isn’t because they are particularly prejudiced; It is merely the way they were raised to take care of critics.

“I understand,” the King suavely proclaims, “Your duty as a Hero of this realm is to prevent the great collapse of this world, The Descent.”

It seems I am now responsible for preventing the Ragnarok of another world; I leave myself with the sarcastic thought of How Wonderful to accentuate my great joy to receiving an incredible job. Everyone else either accidentally or purposefully mistake my expression of self-derision as a form of enthusiasm for the upcoming days. They release cheers from their boisterous chests as if to further sink in the promise of peer pressure, and mob mentality.

With a plastered grin on his face, the King proclaims, “A true hero to be celebrated for the Ages.”

I personally wonder where all the other Heros went, but I decided that the question is to true to be revealed.

He continues while everyone else is celebrating the joyous occasion, “Now won’t you tell us your name messenger of the God of the wise.”

I will give him the same answer that I gave the book in my dreams.

“My name is…” I proclaim, “Algernon.”