Not Myself

A man awakes in a white room, no windows or doors or means of escape. Black wires trace the perimeter of the room all leading to a solitary computer screen. A short-story about self-realization.

Concealed. Closed tightly and wound by a narrow string. It grew cold, the dark like a blanket of ice. Threads of silver starlight waved endlessly through the gloom; a vague white noise of a drifting rhythm. Then silver to white, dark cast aside to the edges of perception, fading silently to a lingering shadow. Head to shoulder and vision to distance, all sense askew, lopsided, faint. White to black, contrast and blending. Creatures like serpents skirting the rim of the encompassment. Weaving and curving amongst their masses, twine over twine, looping and winding. The dark leading to the center, reaching, crawling, climbing the heights. Black to grey, white to black, continuous to uneven. A spectral, boxed-in mass. Broad darkness, cornered, limited.
Stagnant. A flicker of silver crosses the corners of the black, racing across the impressions, escaping thought within a moment. Drifting, whirling cold passes the soles, ushering feeling to the untested consciousness. Space shifts and leaves boundaries behind, leaving all else to fall as a new awareness traces over the ancient. Dozens more serpents track around the corners of the white, their dark haze dancing and shifting. Pillars, in count of four, hoisted the cornered darkness with its waving discrepancies. Silver crossing dark, a blade crashing in the fog, welcome of sanctuary. Then black to white, adrift and now present. Now upsetting the constant dark, a ripple of vibrant color to a still slate, leave the steady beat of activity. The continuous flash of life.
Activity. A weary traveler to institute revision, a perspective of untamed ignorance. Curiosity of the fool echoing its relief, for its slumber retired and eternity in its wake. Echoing of drums, calling, taunting, begging for their beater. Again the world adjusts, bending to its beholders will. Away from the dark comes the attractive shine of mechanics, dozens of willing keys to be wielded. Now the surface depresses and perspective corrects its fickle state, leading higher as all else falls beneath. Advance by advance, the dark screen draws nearer, the allure bringing it forward. Palms raise, cold and animation crawling their way to every crook of the embodiment. A simple hover interrupted by a fluttering quiver, excitement forcing the cold to enhance the senses. Heightened, alert, wary. The mortal meets inanimate, lifeless, controllable. Beneath are strewn symbols, recognized by their shape and importance. Lower goes the flesh, forcing its way towards the Earth. Snap. Black to white. Symbols dance across the ominous darkness, crossing the boundaries between physical and visual. Again the flesh falls across the dozens of symbols to form a compilation of meaning. A means of breaking past the dark veil and unraveling the concealed.
'Hello.' White against black, challenging response. Gaze dances sleeplessly, tracing the dark screen with precision. Beads of rainfall trickle from the flesh, encouraging poise and control. A moment, white echoing off black, the beat of life continuing, the word hovering amidst the void, and then harmony. The suave chime of return, a greeting from behind the darkened veil. Acknowledgement of presence and a return of welcome. A phrase both greeting and reply. 'Hello.' The world moves forward, drawing away as the jolt of awe pulls forcibly upon the body. Impact sends nerves of excitement pulsating throughout. Solid, smooth, limitless. Flesh against the continuity of solid, palms searching for refuge across an endless white. Now far, the darkness hovers, its silver message beckoning the senses, and its steady heartbeat encouraging response. Senses gather, clumping into a stable society. Wits align, set in rows, lines leading forward, drawing towards the darkness. Serenity surrounds reason, and yet initiative embodies ingenuity.
Forward. Again the black creeps closer, caution withholding the imaginative. Charade disguises the natural, detailing fabrications beheld by the soul alone. Perception shifts from darkness to below, to the instrument of communion, dashed out upon strands of symbolic keys. Hesitant, wary, warned. Flesh again falls across machine, soul and spirit colliding with man and metal. Response, a tedious companion, trails slothfully behind thought, its slovenly disposition but a hinderance to the heart's will. Black to white, flesh to key, mental to visual, and a question. 'Who are you?' Time passing, body and mind wither under the intensity of pressure. Reluctant trails are left in the wake of an unsteady conscience. Crumbling walls surround the once fortified structures, leaving the soul exposed to the elements. Weak, alone, destitute. Yet a tone distorts the impressions left by misgiving, allowing but a narrow line of speculation to enlighten the mentality. A stream of white spreads across the darkness, a natural response to the pending inquiry. 'I am Me.'
Thought. Meaning behind meaning, secrets beyond words. The darkness concealing truth with strands of silver light to shine through its seamless veil. A moment, then fortitude resorts to a defensive poise, resolve cornered and flaring. Flesh strikes machine, reply in inquiry, rage behind calm. 'Who am I?' Query too simplistic to be dismissed. A given solution to the simplest question that baffles terms and smears mud across calculations. A decisive timeline to date back to the roots of the finite. And yet mystery may remain the solution to this line of questioning. 'You are I.' Rage, frenzy, passion. A key to unlock yet another means of concealment, the lid drawn back to reveal none but shadow. Swelling and rising, excitement dripping over and sizzling near this raging fire. White upon black, black before white, white encompassed by black. Flesh testing metal as metal tests mental. Tremors serve as reminders of mortality, the wrathful seeping back to allow balance to assert command. Heart in hand, tipping and swaying, finds balance for its throbs. Drops like rain, warning, cautioning, recede to their watchful peaks. Frosted breath curbs intensity, allowing body to be stable with mind. Come again to the keys, and a meeting with infinity.
'Am I myself?' Question to answer: calm, collected, decent. 'No. You are I. I am Me.' Tracks reverse, leading back through the snow-covered terrain to past impressions. Answers by answers, intellect in question as more ends show than beginnings. A road may part many ways, yet it would seem to remain as a single road. One track to follow, where solutions travel only as far as the trail leads. Desire interrupts reason, initiative before soundness. 'Are you yourself?' Complex meets simple leading to intuitive justification, or blatant unconsciousness. One. Two. Three. White holes of silver light peak through the screen in a continuous dance. One. Two. Three. Simple to intricate, impression to indent, mark to symbol. A response. Calculated, intelligent, thoughtful. Living.
'I am Me, but not Myself.' Meaning escapes logic. The absurd distorts the absolute. The once clear trail parts and leads down many dark alleys. Confounded, conflicted, concerned. Wire ties relentlessly around the head, choking and gagging the mind. Senses dashed across the Earth, splattering the world in the darkness of mystery. Flesh combats the keys, dueling their intolerable resilience. 'Who is myself?' Foolery colliding with thought, no longer bounding the soul to a fixed point. Soaring, lost, searching. Kites blowing in the wind, falling and rising with the fickle god of the sky. Bending to his will, allowing his mind to coincide with its own, and the kite rises to the heavens, loosening all bonds to Earth. Then resolution: 'I am Me, but not Myself.' Wrath interrupts precision. The screen draws nearer, its integrity at the will of its captor. Moistened flesh wraps itself about the darkness, upsetting its more natural position. Palms tighten against machine, issuing threats of harm. Then words, not of mental nor visual, but of sound emitted towards the air. "Who are you?" Pause, respite, anxiety. Vision to darkness, soul to machine, hope to inanimate. But darkness still, stagnant as before.
Devoid. White light reflected from the impressions of the darkness. Black, dark, empty. Resting in a deep slumber, the black waited. Calm, the product of rage, settled over the capacity, bring a melody of slumber to rest on the weary brow. Rainwater leapt from its refuge in the flesh, soothing the body like water dousing a flame. The heart fell silently to a tranquil beat, lulling body and spirit to amity. Yet heart met heart and beat met rhythm. Black to white, and white to black. Disruption. Chaos. Unrest. The steady beat of activity, stably echoing the drums of life. Disturbance amongst sanctuary. The branch thrown into the nest. Rustling, shaking, offering little to the imagination. Drum upon drum upon drum, the beat of activity inviting the daring. Inviting the traveler who wishes to never return home. The road that welcomes the adventurous and the fools. All to be found by the words of a dark void, a hole into nothingness and everything. A reply. 'I am Me, but not Myself'.
Rage. Fire stirs, burning, charring, dancing. Wrath beckons the beat of the heart, drumming with taunting rhythm. Flesh with red, blood with hate, man with machine. Then silence. Darkness released, plummeting to Earth, meeting its creator. Darkness meets light. Black against white, crashing, colliding. Desolating. Light meets light, bright and untamed. Red and orange cast into the air. Shards of ice scatter, relieving themselves of the dark and being cast across the light. Beneath, below, broken. Vision moves to meet the darkness, beneath, below, beckoning. Towering above, stooping low, a god amongst mortal. Beneath, below, begging. Darkness to give its final word, grasping at light, at life, at escape. Broken, shattered, destroyed, yet active. Black to white, yet again. 'I am not Myself.' Sole to glass, breaking beyond light and dark, permeating all boundaries. Flesh to blood, red on white. Pain, stabbing and biting, cutting and clawing. Again flesh meets machine, annihilating, breaking, crashing into one another. Rage spilt over by blood, mortal meeting machine in an outburst of hate. Fracturing and shattering, tearing machine piece by piece. Finally, the darkness lies strewn across the white, broken. Desolate.
Shattered. Perception filters to see red against flesh, contrast and blending. Plague strew across the land, deadly, scarlet, horrible. Hand to vision and blood to gaze. Horror. Blood floating across flesh like rivers, rapid and terrible. Shades of red, scarlet and black, fell to white, striking and splashing the Earth. Black to white, white to red, red like black, shattered, dead. Mind and body unsettled, untamed. Red to black, red to white. Cut, bruised, violent. The soul had left, fled, ran. In it's place, red remained. Guilt, pity, sorrow, loss. Thoughts no longer constrained the spirit, words and curses spat them out. "Who am I?" Pondering, wondering, lost in the maze of the heart. The heart beat weakened, quaking and unsteady. Muscles tense, bone and body broken. Red against white, white against black. No longer the beginning, but changed, reformed, broken. Different. Open to self. Accepting fault. A new sanctuary, one of self, but not of peace. One of acceptance. "I am me, but not myself."

Author's Note

Much of the text may seem confusing due to the very allegorical writing style. Remember to base your vision of the story on the description.