T w e n t y  T w o

I n  t h e  M i n d

I was eighteen when George Introduced me to the first Far Cry game, unexpected that the franchise would excel in the future. 

He passed me the controller, unaware that after a very graphic (and poorly depicted)death of my character I played, I set it down and there came my first ever sight of blood on my hands. Even though it had been all on the small TV screen, cooped in the corner of George's student house room, it had drained me.

Somewhere in my head, my mind palace, clicked into place. 

It was the time when my mind was still adding a new ward of books every day, and I keep imagining the door which I had locked for years. The locks began to crumble, and I felt a new lock - quite different to the old - take its place.

It was something different. Not dark, but completely not innocent.

____

"[Y/N], you got to stay awake."

My eyes were shut, trying to fight the spasms I began to concur. "I...trying...but...bullet...air!"

"We've got you. Just hold on..."

"Agent! We're losing her!"

____

Within my mind, I snap my eyes open. 

Gasping, I spun around on my feet, feeling the cold marble floor as I looked now above. The ceiling had extended to the clouds, only seeing the blank mist and the faint glimpse of a chandelier. I felt nothing but emptiness in the air, only to take another breath of pant.

In another blink, I jerked my body and the whole scenery changed. 

The room darkened, and I was thrust back to a memory. When my mind clicked, the light darkened, and I felt the warmth and scent of a familiar room. It was small hallway, with only light emitting from the open front door. Scrunching my toes, I could feel the soft carpet and I shut my eyes to remember when I used to love the pale and beauty of Persian patterns.

I studied the hallway, and I had noticed how it was just past three in the afternoon when I walked over to the grandfather clock by the staircase. Even though the hallway was huge, there was a nostalgic and warm atmosphere that made my fingers twitch. My fingers trailed over the dark spruce table, feeling the dust collect on my skin until I came across a figure in front of me.

The figure was me.

She had been only around my waist, hair collected in a ponytail and dressed in a doll style dress and tights. As I gazed down at her feet, I smiled faintly at her shoes. It was the second Oxfords I had from my parents. They looked new and clean. The laces were tied neatly in bows and I can spot that there were hardly any creases yet from the leather. 

When the observation filled through, my smile faltered at the realisation.

"Where's my little Einstein," Snapping up, I stared at the man who spoke back. 

My father. Alive and much younger from the last time I had saw him.

He wore his coat, suit and case. On his hand, he prepared to open his umbrella that was always propped up by the coat hanger. And then all the deductions added up.

My smaller self replied, "I'm right here, dad!" I then heard the falter of my smaller self add, "How long will...will you be gone?"

Walking over closer, I listen and feel myself more invisible in the conversation. But to be honest, I wanted to see again his face closer, and I felt the urge to stretch my hand, to actually grasp him by the arm. 

To feel his body embrace mine. 

To tell him not go. 

To tell him that leaving his daughter was going to be the worse idea in the world. 

To tell him what he would leave behind. A daughter without a father and a woman without a heart. 

My head began to hurt, and ears began to ring as I watched his last expression drop to a smile as began to walk and fade to the light.

I turned to see my younger self's reaction, tears began to slip from her cheeks and my chest heaved when she ran to the door. But when she passed through me, I heard another voice.

A younger version of my mother rushed past, worry plastering on her tired face as she ran through the front door. I hurried past, remembering now well of how this was going to turn out. Heading for the road, I jogged out from the gate and saw my mum grab me from behind, pulling me as I now saw what had happened.

My younger self cried, trying to pry my mum's arms and watching the sound of a car's engine fade to the light.

____

"We've got an emergency here!"

"What is it?"

"Bullet wound. It seems pretty deep and she's losing a lot of blood."

"Okay, let's get her quickly as possible. We need that bullet out!"

____

I felt the air choke me from another dream, and the scenery flash before my eyes. Jerked into the memory, my body lurched as if I had flew out of a vacuum. To my surprise, I had expected to fly at my knew, trembling from the lack of balance. Though soon as I caught a waft of fresh air, I panted back.

My mind had imagined a secondary school, a Grammar school to my knowledge. The concrete below me, brittle and hot, felt no pain to me as I walked through the tall green gates and towards the standing building.

Fluttering my eyes at the signs, I kept my eyes peeled for myself: hearing the roaring of the bell whirl me towards the endless crowds of students. However, whenever I past a certain person, their faces were blurred - a reminder to myself how I never decided to memorize anyone's faces.

Though a sudden ring of another school bell filled my ears. I spun around, and I could sense my face drain in colour as I heard several voices.

"Oh look! It's little bird brain!"

"Where's your dollies and Barbie dolls, nerd?"

"Maybe you should just fuck off, rich kid."

"Guys!" That voice. 

It has been a while since I've heard Ralph Brindley defend me.

It was the the new year, the year when I first joined secondary school at the the age of eight. I had just spent the whole summer with the Brindleys, the most wonderful times I've almost forgotten. But September kicked in, and the whole reason I had wanted to forget that summer had been because of this...

Ralph ran his fingers through his hair, as he knelt at the girl's height and looked unaffected at the glistening eyes.

"[Y/N]...That was last summer. This is reality." He sternly spoke, an airy authority in his voice. "I can't associate with you anymore. You're...not like us."

I looked at the children. At myself and at Ralph. The boy who would change the way I would see the world.

He spoke, "It's best we don't speak to each other."

How much of a lie that was.

My younger self held a strong deadpan look, not entirely ignoring younger Ralph's friends as they taunt myself through the hallways. My eyes tried not to swell, but I choked once I saw how hurt my younger self has.

She then softly answered, "I'm sorry for whatever happened. I'll try and not be a freak to you and your friends." Her gentle hands tried to grab Ralph's, but another rough hand swatted it away and jerked back.

Then, I was taken back how horrible he had been to me. And something below me, a tiny bit of anger: wanted to stomp at the younger Brindley and tell him the aftermath.

But before I was about to, my eyes blurred to the white light once more...

____

"How deep it is?"

"Quite deep in."

"How is that possible? The bullet hasn't hit any organs!"

"She's a clever girl..."

____

"Wake up godammit!" I scrunch my eyelids, letting my fists clench until all I could feel was the numbness and the shaking of the floor.

Once more, I was shown myself, still the same age. It had been a smaller room, quite dark and it gave a stuffy aroma of sweat and fabric. I walked towards the glass window, where the light had become prominent and gazed over my faint reflection. I was in a dojo, watching my younger self spar and easily beating the taller and much heavier opponent.

A little applause erupted from behind and it was as if my younger self's eyes stared back at mine, seeing the worry and nerve in them. As I turned back, I followed my younger self's gaze and found the woman stood behind me.

My mother looked a little pale, but she plastered a smile that faltered to meet her eyes. I knew well that I wanted the approval of my mother, as it had been my dad and uncle's choice to give me lessons.

But to her eyes: she would only see the product of the person she hated to love.

____

"We're losing her again!"

"Are you ready to get the bullet out."

"Doctor...I don't know if we've got enough blood to replenish the amount lost."

"Then we need to act fast."

____

My chest was suffering to release another breath, but I pried my eyes to adjust once more to the light. It was little harder to walk now, as I felt my knees to clasp down together and my hand immediately clenching the top of my dress.

That hadn't stopped me from seeing another memory, and it had been the one where I hadn't wanted to see again.

There in front of me, stood all black, had been my thirteen year old self: ambling past with head held high as the hearse drove in front. I had stood by the pavement, London Westminster Abbey just beside me as I now hobbled past to the tall and large doors of the Abbey.

I had seen the Brindleys and the Summers, sat in the middle whilst I sat with my family. My younger self never budged or even seemed to take a breath - as if she had been the corpse on the casket instead.

My own figure slowly edged forward to the alter, and I began to feel the pang in my chest heave more harder. Why was I doing this to myself?

I graced my fingers at my father's cheeks, his face no longer giving me that smile...

And then, my world crumbled and gut-wrenching cry echoed to my ears.

____

"She's convulsing!"

"Heart rate increasing! She's going into shock!"

"We're losing her!"

"Come on, darling...if you can go into shock after ten minutes...you can survive this..."

____

"Ah! Here she is!"

It was like hell, worse than anything I had gone through. My eyes were scrunched closed, but I let myself look. Hands grasping the walls of the room, I screamed and belted. It felt like a hundred hot irons were piercing every bit of my skin. Meanwhile, my body was plunging back into a cold ice bath.

My eyes tried to regain to look, and once I got familiar: my eyes gotten wider.

The crumbling ceiling was held above me, hearing nothing but screeches and empty cries as I knelt myself by the wall and clattered my teeth. The abandoned building was left into a state of derelict, filled with empty beer bottles and cigarette packets - and white powder on the floor.

"Uh...excuse me?" When I noticed something similar to the voice, I growled back and stared at the woman.

She wore the red dress Susan Matthews wore, but when she turned around from the shivering body next to her - I widened my eyes - shocked to find my own face.

I answered back, but it came out with a desperate growl, "I thought...I locked you up."

My clone gave me a lope-sided smile that did not intend to make me roll my eyes or laugh. 

No. 

This was something worse, something I had never wanted to see ever again. And as I said: I had thought I locked her up.

She spoke, in a confident and strong voice that held no hint but sinister. "Oh. But of course: not anymore." 

She got up slowly, an alluring way that sent shiver down my spine that had wanted me to throttle back at her neck. "Shame...you never seemed to think that I would have disappeared in this mind of yours. "

"You!" I shouted angrily, strands of hair sticking on my sweating face. "Of course it's you! You never felt it, you always controlled it!"

Darker Me tilted her head, and she stepped a little closer, only inches at my face as she curled her fingers at my chin. Looking to the side, I watched the body on the floor: withering in pain.

Suddenly, I felt her claw my head and I was forced to watch them, howl in the night like wolf.

It had been my body.

Her voice filled my ear as she whispered, "Look at you," I could not help but not stare as I winced, trying to control the shock electrifying me. She then spoke, "Watching yourself realize how much you are worth in the world."

I clatter my teeth to form my words, "I would rather die than turn into what becomes of me."

"Your words don't affect me, [Y/N]." Darker Me grinned. 

All she radiated was cold and no emotion. But just as she pressed her hand against chest, my heart beat faster and I almost wanted to scream again - to let out the pain.

She added, "And pain." A chuckle left her lips;

"You will never feel it if you don't fear it."

Clutching my heart, I buckled to my knees and screamed - collapsing on the floor.

____

"Bullet is out!"

"Her heart's slowing."

"Come on! You need to wake up!"

"[Y/N]. Can you hear me?"

____

When I returned back, I stared in front: looking at the hole in the ceiling as I heard my younger self shiver in the cold beside me and Darker Me walking around. Her hand was twirling a knife at her fingertips, loosely sauntering about as if carrying two blades were of ordinary. No words came out, as she began to taunt once more.

"This is what you made," She sighed, looking bored. "A version of you. Perfect at every way."

I quietly murmured back. I was feeling a little more sleepy as my eyes began to wander more. Every moment as well, I could feel the edge of my vision to fade.

"No. You're the worse version I could have made." I rasped a reply, sneering. "You could have taken down everyone. Kill and murder."

"And yet no one will suspect little innocent prodigy." She sang the last bit, and I had a feeling that she was wishing to run her blade across my neck. "Don't you see? I feel no fear, no self-doubt of what I think and do."

I began to shut my eyes.

When I felt her breath up close, I hear her murmur. "They brought us up like this, [Y/N]. Why are you so afraid to realize the potential?"

"Because..."

Darker Me trailed her knife against my skin, and I held back the tears slipping on my cheeks. I didn't know what to say, to retort back: to tell her that she was wrong in every way. It was to do it, because there: I knew she was right.

She was the version I had locked up. Not for a rainy day but forever. I thought I could have deleted her permanently, but all the built of pain, the surging of anger throughout my life: it had given me this cold and empty shell which I called my own.

Darker Me's voice echoed in the room. "You could die. Oh god...I would be really surprise if you do!" 

She let out a laugh and I tried to concentrate at her footsteps. "But...think about all those people! You know? Those people you call them as your friends? They'll be devastated! Probably crying despite how they never knew the real you... Mother would be upset. She'll probably divorce that man, but: how I do want to see myself watch him die slowly. All because of me of course."

'I need to control the pain...' I let myself encourage, but to avail.

"And George Kingston!" She purred his name. "Oh he would be so easy to get rid of. Him and that partner of his. And those neighbors too! All of them! They're so stupid and ignorant to know how much your worth is to them! They think you're faking it! They don't need another annoying dramatic bitch!"

The light began to fade, and almost there - my eyes began to water.

"And Lewis Brindley!" Darker Me gasped. "Your death would destroy him! Ha! That man you thought was your friend? And you think he's hiding something?" She tutted, "Oh...what a shame you'll be dead before you will know it."

And at that moment, I let out a choke of air.

____

"Heart rate is gone."

"No...we have to wait."

"Is she?"

"..."

"Oh my god...she's pulling through."

____

"ARGH!" My whole body lurched forward, and I felt my own feet reach to the wooden ground in a weakened manner.

When I glanced at Darker Me, she had only frowned. "Well I hadn't expected that."

I stood firmly up, grasping the wall as I tried to contain my balance. The floor rumbled, and I looked across the room to hear banging from the blocked doors.

"[Y/F/N]!" A low tenor voice loudly spoke, muffled by the space between them.

Darker Me began to saunter over to the door, and I watched several policemen - holding several torches at their hands.

I looked back at Darker Me and let out a raspy retort: "You are wrong about pain."

"Then tell me," Darker Me smiled menacingly. "Did Lew Lew tell you this? Or did you somehow made it your own?"

You could head the drip of venom in my voice as I said my last words at her.

"You are wrong, because no matter how awful our past was..." I took a deep breath and stood more straighter. "I'm stronger than you. I'm smarter."

I then continued, "And most importantly: I have a family."

Our gazes were held like statues, both of us stubborn enough to watch each other glare before one of us would cut the trance. She - across the room - did a nod before forming a smirk.

Afterwards, the ringing began to grow in volume.

"Ms. [Y/LN]. Can you reply to me." The policeman had knelt by my - still - cold and twitching body as I began to know very well when this had happened.

He looked up at his colleague and spoke, "She looks better, but she still has it in her system."

'Please.' It had been the first time I pleaded for this memory to stop. All the other times, I had gone through with it without a single twitch in my lips. But after Darker Me appeared, a little bit in my chest opened - and now the sudden realisation of hope filled the empty chest I had began all those years ago.

Finally, I ran for the door; a glint of warmth sprouting in my heart. Because now, I had something to run to. And that was my new family.

____

A/N: That was a sort of pain in the ass to write!

When I first decided to write this idea, I was questioned myself: how dafuq do you write as if you are someone's mind? How hard could it be?

My answer would: with this style and oh my gosh it's very fucking hard.

I don't even know what to say about this sort of chapter, It's kind of filler: but it's so jam packed filled with importance to the character that I had to put it in here! And I know it may not make sense, but yes: she is very intelligent to create a mind view of her memories and yes: there is something she fears: and that is being afraid to become what was Darker Me.

Darker Me is kind of her own agenda, her figure to represent the pain she feels throughout her life. And since she decided to 'delete' her memories, they don't really leave her - not the special ones. All these memories that cause so much emotion and pain that it turns to this anger...and eventually it's her fear that if she does get back at the people she was hurt by, she wouldn't feel anything, because she has enough to know that it's easier to live empty than fearing to hurt.

That sounded really deep but for my view, it makes the character more realistic and gives the reader a reason what happens to a character that thinks and feels this way.

But right, I am very tired and I hoped you enjoyed reading :)

-SierraOwls