Standing in the middle of my room in a hospital gown, I furiously was scribbling the video game idea I had had in the dark. I was in a video game, trapped on the second level, though I had barely mastered the first in being able to figure out how to get access to a telephone to give instructions to the outside world to inform those not present during my mental break of my plight. Once a wise scientist, I was now trapped in a mental hospital. My nurse, Brendan, had given me a cup of crayons and as much paper as I wanted to appease me and keep me in my room for awhile until the pills kicked in and I fell asleep.

I hadn't been sleeping. That should have been an indication that the actress was suffocating beneath her mask. It's not like I ever had a normal sleep schedule but it was worse now. Monster flowed through my veins and my eyes were bloodshot as I avoided the frigid abyss of sleep every night until my purple bedroom walls were illuminated with the blue haze of the morning light. The nurses made sure to open the blinds in the morning for us, even when we requested not to. I struggled with boundaries. That was the first level's password - awareness. The tutorial's was rules. I wrote a smiley face on the paper when I figured it out. Had I been a programmer, the game might have been simpler but virtuality reality games were always difficult.

I never gamed before but watching them, I knew enough to recognize what was going on here. The game premise was that I had gone from a scientist struggling to make something of herself to a mental patient. I had the socks to prove it. The goal was to figure out the password. Everyone in the game is an NPC that acts as though they don't know the code, but they all have a code that I have to decipher from how they react to my actions. There are other patients. They have their own shit going on, but we'll interact. There are nurses. They are there to help, but keep their distance. There's a doctor. I can't distinguish him yet, but I know he's there. From somewhere in the distance, there is a silent force controlling everything I do and helping me correct my mistakes.

The tutorial's password was rules. I have to eat three times a day. There is a menu that comes and I box in what I want or I get whatever they serve. They serve grits. I hate grits. My cousin's grandmother made them too dry once and it ruined them forever. I have to wear my socks to leave the room. That's an easy one. I don't like feet. The floor is cold. Grey looks good on me. There's no bar soap, only liquid. That's a stupid rule but I guess it's easier to buy in bulk. No sharp objects, like pencils. You can use the phone but you have to be quick and you have to ask. They turn it off behind the desk at 8pm. Dinner is at 5pm. The nurses control the TV but if you word it right and say please, you can get the channel changed. Olivia likes Elmo. I watch it with her.

The first level's password was awareness. I had the rules. I knew the people I was with. Olivia was a sweet woman. James didn't like me. There was a man that screamed down the hall. I didn't like the noise so I stayed in my room. I had a Bible to read. I learned the TV. I got my meals. I wrote the rules cryptically in three languages so no one could tell that I knew just in case a new enemy appeared. My parents said I talk too fast to tell them the answer. They tell me to get better. I am better. The nurses say they'll move me but nothing will change. I don't need my crayons but I bring them anyway. I do need my paper. My gown has a pocket where I keep it. I've passed to Level Two. Olivia gives me a note when she is discharged that she liked and would miss me.

The second level is where I currently stand, in holding, waiting. There are different people but the nurses kept their word and stayed the same. We do activities now. Tomorrow, we go to the gym. I get eggs and bacon and potatoes tomorrow. I like the burgers. I furiously make a plan of attack. Act right. Read James 5, verses 7 to 13. Watch Jeopardy with Kim. She's an older lady that is very nice. She's there because she tried to kill herself. I'm here because the world's still going too fast. I don't know what pills I take anymore but my brother assured me that my therapist knows what is going on. I trust Anna. My door opens to illuminate me, a crazy person, hunched in the dark scribbling in crayon though I can now use golf pencils.

"Are you okay?"

"Playing a video game," I respond with a cheeky smile. Maybe I'm coming back. The nurse can't tell.

"Be sure to sleep," the nurse says before closing my door and walking away.

Confusion. That's a good tactic. I note it, then hear another nurse. Medicine time. I hide my paper and lay in my bed, waiting for the sedative that will allow me to leave holding and work on getting to whatever awaits me at Level Three.

There's a story in that scar he's wearing. It's probably just the cat, or maybe a carpentry project, but my mind goes beyond the mundane.

Well. It's not yet a scar, but it likely will be. The scab looks pretty gnarly and the skin is all red and angry around it. It doesn't look septic, but I think the memories tied to the ring just below it may well be.

The cut is on his left ring finger, and the gold band has been his for over twenty years.

It's unlikely that there will be twenty more.

The woman he married had a sister who never made it past 50 and a mother who didn't see 61. At 65, his wife is the longest lived on her particular branch of the family tree.

He both cares for her and provides care for her, as her health has slowly paled as surely as her complexion. Grays and wrinkles find us all, but they've set upon her heavily in the last two years. Where she was strength and fire she's now shadowy embers, slowly burning enough to know there's warmth hidden away somewhere. Her fires are stoked with the heat of disagreement and she burns with the need to be contrary. Her ways are the best ways if not the only ways, and this is made harder for her to reconcile since she no longer can perform many of the ways on her own.

We were friends once, and I miss those days.

It makes me happy to see her face light with joy, but there's still the heat of argument just behind her excitement as she opens her Christmas present and I explain its meaning. It's almost as if she wants to debate the nuance of my gift and how she should use it; to me, it is clear, but explanations that suit her are difficult these days.

She'll be given that trip to Ireland that she's always wanted, and he'll be along with her. She asks if I'll go, and I beg off because of work.

God help me, I know I should want to go, but I just don't. Time is short, but so is patience. I've always felt the need to spend my time wisely, because my branch of her family tree isn't exactly long and winding, either. I should spend more time with my mother, but it's an emotionally expensive investment for us all. I want her to find happiness in those Emerald Isles, or the closest thing to it she can, and me being there probably won't bring much of that to anyone.

Except maybe him, because he needs a break. I can tell. He and I share glances across the Christmas table, and he is weary.

There isn't a scar on his finger yet, but I can tell the ring is slowly cutting him pretty deep.

I awoke in a white room with slight stains on the walls, containing a pristine white bed which looked like it had been cleaned regularly. There was nothing else in the room, no sounds either. Other than a slight ring in my ears, there was nothing. There was a strange aura. It was all plain, and not only because everything had a white tone. No sounds; No smells; Nothing at all. I pulled the greyish blanket off my body—only to notice a white gown, with minuscule blue spots splattered about it—I stood up from the bed with the intent of walking about. I looked down—I didn’t remember being in these clothes before—I ran my hands through my hair, and paced around the room pulling at the strands at certain times. What am I doing here? Why am I here again?

There was a door in the room, it was plain, and clean, and of course, white. It had a normal rectangular door handle, it was shiny and silver. I approached it slowly, I held my hand out slightly and stared at the handle. I grasped the cold handle in my fist, and rapidly jiggled the knob. Locked.

I suddenly heard a thump behind me, it was like someone stomping their foot on the solid ground or knocking their fist on a surface of sorts. I jumped with a slight start and quickly turned my head, inquiring who may be behind me. There had been no sound before, and I hadn’t seen anyone in awhile. I wasn’t sure if I indeed wanted to figure out the riddler behind me.

‘Hello, You,’ The mysterious person said as I looked them in the eyes. They had dark red hair and unique blue eyes. They seemed familiar.

“Who the hell are you?” I said stuttering and stammering over my words in horror of the mysterious person in front of me.

‘Who do you think—you already know don’t you?’ They said, they clasped their hands behind their back and stepped slowly closer.

“What the hell,” I said, I tried to step away however my back met the door, my hands grasped the frames. I tried once more with my right hand to fiddle the door open, however it was glued into the latch.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ They asked, turning their neck to the side so it just about touch their shoulder.

“I said—” I stared sternly still wiggling the door knob, “who are you!” I though I knew who they were, but I was afraid to ask.

“God—how did you get yourself stuck here? I thought you were getting better—at least that’s what you told yourself,” They said, looking around all the corners of where he and I were held.

“I thought was, why do you think I’m in here? You already know exactly why! It didn’t work,” I answered, my back still to the door, but my neck leaned slightly forward. My brows turned down and an angry snarl turned up on my face.

“You know exactly what happened—where the hell are we anyway?” I snapped back once more, he looked me deep in my eyes—I knew exactly who they were now—I’d seen those eyes about some million times.

“Why couldn’t you have just gotten over it? You’ve driven yourself crazy now,” They said to me stepping closer looking at the wall, he still had their hands clasped behind his back.

“Yeah—I made bad choices—I had my hopes up—I had issues. But you know that’s not getting better, so why must you pester me about it?” I answered. They continued to slowly step closer, his devious blue eyes locking into mine for only me to get stuck into once more.

“Yeah—You did have your hopes up? What, you were going to be some ‘big music star’, ‘record deals’ and whatnot,” They continued. He swatted his head side to side and almost gave a little chuckle to themselves. In a panic I banged and pounded on the door behind me, I fiddled with the lock but it still wouldn’t budge. As they grew closer I hit my body up against it in disbelief.

“Stop—” I called out petrified, “what do you want—what could you possibly want now!” I finished, covering my ears and sliding down the door, my vision had blurred slightly. They had drawn closer evermore—they were only a few feet away from me—I didn’t know whether to scream, or stay silent. They would both most likely have the same effect.

“Why didn’t you just give up? It would’ve been easier for the both of us,” They clapped back in my face as he drew further and bent down, excusing their calmed, intimidating, and slightly whimsy tone for a more frustrated replacement. Both were equally terrifying.

“I wanted to get better—” I started pointing my index finger at my chest. “You wouldn’t get out of my head!” I snapped back screaming, slamming my fists on the floor. I noticed the cold—and somewhat relief—of a tear brush down my cheek, and then another one followed on the opposite side to match the other.

“I’m always in your head—” He replied, standing up tall and chuckling at the end of his statement, which I’d desired not to be a truth in my moment of despair and delusion.

“We. Are. One: To kill me is to kill you and vice versa. So what’s the choice my frie—” They said slowly, and in an almost arrogant tone. They stood taller as they said their ferocious words; which of course I’d never let them finish.

“Stop—” I screamed once more, this time twice as loud—and almost with a break in my voice along with the addition of an abundance of tears flowing down—I didn’t startle them however, he may have become more angry with ourself than he was before.

“I’m not going down that road again! I—I’m n—not listening to you a—anymore!” I clapped back with my hands over my ears, and then moved my face gently into my palms.

“I’m always here! I’m in your thoughts for god’s sakes! You can’t not listen to me—” They started, throwing their arms up in the air. His eyes locked upon the ceiling, he was about to be deep in thought; and I didn’t want to stick around for their ‘monologue’.

“Whenever you do anything, I’ll be there. Every move you make, every step you take, every breath that come out of your lungs I will see it and I will breath it was well,” He replied. He bent down, not less than a foot away from me, put their fingertips on the underside of my chin, and tinted my face up, and said—

“The only ways it to die: So, what’s your choice?”

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the other side of the door, I rapidly turned around to view the door—I couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, and it all went silent, and dark—.

“Ren?” a voice said, I jolted up. ‘What the hell just happened?’ It almost felt as if I had awoken from something. I rapidly turned my head around the room, I was terrified about who would pop out next. I returned in the exact bed, and in the exact room. ‘Did he do something to me?’ ‘Was I in some sort of trance?’

“Ren!” the voice said again, they banged harder. It was a powerful voice, with a hard to describe accent. ‘New York? Southern?’ My mind rambled, it sounded like an older black woman; maybe I’d recognized the voice from before.

“Y—yes,” I called out. I heard the key jingle and the sound of a door click. It squeaked open to reveal a woman who’d been calling out from behind—she did seem slightly familiar. She had poofy mid-length black hair in small coils, along with dark skin and noticeably long, dark eyelashes surrounding thin, and almost ebony eyes. She was a bigger woman, wearing the uniform of a nurse. She held a light colored clipboard and seemed to scan through it thoroughly.

“Ren, the doctor would like to see you now,” she said, walking off expecting me to follow with the wave of her hand for me to come near.

I’d understood what happened now, it seemed like an episode if that’s how you’d describe it. I never really knew what to call them. They were never too bad. I just knew I would not pleasure meeting my inner conscience and demons once more.

I look in the mirror and see a stranger.

I know it's me this image has my face but the insides are lies.

Who am I really?

I have created a persona for others to like, but the problem is I don't like him very much.

He's the ultimate "my guy," he's funny but shy, artistic and tormented but there's more than meets the eye.

He's played this role for so long he believes it but when alone he's faced with the real shit.

I look in the mirror and the conversation goes again, "Hi, who am I?"

"Hey, you're THAT guy."

It's what you wrenched

rendered from its depths

held by scruff of the neck

--said self

help!

and back

into the top hat

or fancy bag

It refused

like black magick

to go back

--said self

help!

is defective

and forgets to stay

respectfully silent

but calls itself out

on the hanger

half dammed

01.02.2023

Dueling Realities @PrettyScaries