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My eyes dart across the room.
It was dark here, but it was light enough to see.

Questions were something always racing through my mind, even at a young age.
It was only a matter of time before there were too many to answer. Too many to fathom. They came like heartbeats in quick sentences and thoughts, nestling themselves into every nook and cranny of my mind. They came at seemingly the speed of light, and left slowly, but without a trace.

No one thinks I'll ever run out of space, in the seemingly endless expanses of my mind. No one thinks I ever have experienced the inability to think. Though my mind might be buzzing with questions, ideas are the thing I treasure most. Questions bring itches in the back of my mind, that I cannot scratch. Even with the gained knowledge to understand, and know the answer to one question; it just causes more to arise, which fills my mind just the slightest bit more with these aching inquiries.

Many times I have experienced the never ending ridicule, of misunderstood and misunderstanding peers, that wish nothing, but to only understand. They wish to understand what they think I know, but never have.

Just because I have the ability to question one's actions, the words that I speak, the mysteries presented daily in front of me, does not mean I know these answers. Never before have I tried to learn the answers to such silly things. Never before did trying to figure these things out be the main goal.

It was a couple of months ago, when I tried to figure these things out. I went down one path, and I don't think Ill ever get out of this one. I've dug myself into a hole and I don't believe I can get out by myself.

It might be a little bit too typical, that I found myself in a position, where I was thinking about things I shouldn't have been

No one ever told me about thought crimes. I guess I should have put together the pieces, assembled the puzzle, that would've been so easy to solve.

Mind readers. Why would there be people who monitor thoughts without purpose, without need? People, whom on most days, before you'd retire to your sleeping area, tell you goodnight. Tell you, that you were okay. Many people had told me that it was fine, just checking for illness, but people with mental disorders were often ignored, despite their desperate physical calls for help.

I'm sweating, perspiring all over these clothes.

It's too warm in here, yet the sounds meant to escape my mouth do not ever make it past my lips. My eyes are shut tight, but I do not know why.

I push again, against the walls. I don't know what they're made of, some sort of material. Everything seems metallic to me, for some reason, despite it's soft, nurturing nature. The walls and floor are soft, cushioning me from my fall, from scraping my knees and bruising my arm.

I use my feet this time, to push into the seemingly metallic, yet soft, fixed surfaces. Breaking free of this prison seems impossible. It panics me, I want to move. I need air, because these walls contain me, and seemingly anything from entering.

For now I'll remember.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, air fills my lungs. The night sky is bright, speckled with stars and a full moon. I question where they came from. I question the purpose of existence and if there is one, purpose needs to exist.

It becomes apparent, that I'd nearly forgotten why I'd come out to the wet, sandy expanses of the sea side, when the tide was up. I'd almost forgotten my own purpose here, and it was to calm myself.

To forget all of these questions, to try and clear my mind for a sweet blissful moment.

The rocky edges of the shore, spread into an isolated patch of rocks. I questioned why they were there, before stepping past sea stars and clams to get over there.

I sat upon a larger one of the rocks, I had singled it out instantly from the rest. Upon reaching them I took my seat and grabbed the bag I'd taken with me. I unhooked it from my shoulder strap and set it on my lap. The buckle was hard to undo with gloved fingers, and steamy clouds from warm breath hitting cool air, blocking my vision. With a clicking sound I succeeded at the simple task.

Upon opening the bag, I pulled out a water bottle and emptied it onto the ground. Another question struck my mind, not clearer nor foggier than the rest. “Why do I have a bag?”

With a swig of my water; I pushed that thought back in my mind as well. Despite my gloves, jacket, ear muffs, and puffy boots my fingers grew numb with the cold.

Why was I cold.

I felt something warm dribble down the side of my head, pain wasn't present.

I laughed fondly at the memory. Why I laughed, I did not and do not know. After that I had blacked out and the rest was just a blur before it. I remember sirens and some sort of threat being whispered in my ear.

Something along the lines of being wheeled off and then I was set in a field.

Golden blades of grass swayed slightly. It was beautiful out there, something I knew I'd remember.

The forecast called for a storm this evening and it was nearing the set time, but I couldn't believe those people always.

How could such a beautiful day turn into a howling storm.

A howling storm, as much as I howled with laughter at the thought, that people were locking themselves away for this coming evening. It was bright, and beautiful. No smell of fresh rain lingered in the air, or feelings of dread. The cloud they said was to cause this was so small, it might have dissipated, broken up and let itself contain little significance, in the seemingly endless abyss of the open blue sky.

I lay back and spread my limb, laying upon my back and staring upwards. Rays of sun hit my face and reflected off of a nearby puddle. A smile was firmly implanted on my face and the only word to describe this feeling was wonderful.

I think I may have been in love at the time, as I do remember comparing this all to one person, but to whom I don't know. I find it sad that I don't remember their name, but maybe one day I'll see them again. It may be a downer to them, but I don't feel they were a significant enough part of my life to remember now.

I heard birds singing and everything was perfect. I drifted off, but past this time I do not remember now.

A darkly colored clock hung crooked above my head. It ticked slowly.

I tried to count the seconds passing, but I'd lose track at about ten seconds every time. Hours could have passed in my definition of minutes, and years in days, but I never would have known. I could not write tallies on the walls as light passed, I could not keep track of time, for I could not see the clock's face, if it had one.

If it were daylight then, at the time I would've been squinting and churning restlessly, attempting to escape the bright reflections from the smooth, steely, four surfaces that surrounded me. They caused almost blindingly bright reflections. Every day I endured seemingly endless hours of daylight, for I don't know how long.

There was a window, but curtains blocked my view of the outside world, and they were out of my reach.

It had been a long time since I'd felt anything new, anything exciting. At first the utter feat that came from the idea of no 'escape' had filled me with worry and chaotic thoughts. Restless I may have been, but now I would never come to describe myself as such things.

It was dark now. The absence of proper heating wasn't easily ignored. I had pulled my knees close to my chest. My shivering caused the clinking of teeth to become incredibly irritating, eating away at my tolerance level.

The only light was moon rays that shone through the curtain, surprisingly the light was soft and not irritating to the eyes.

A chill ran down my spine when I realized, that I'd never seen myself. The thought of reflections had brought up the subject in my roaming mind. My own reflection was something I never had seen and I did not know if I ever would see it.

Long leather gloves covered my hands and my jacket was shredded, near torn, but I was wearing a shirt and I still couldn't see it. The skin I swore I'd known. I did not know my race, my eye color, the structure of my face. My right temple had a round scar, and acne littered my shoulders, I knew this. I knew that I got freckles on my knees and hated the concept of free falling. Still, despite my knowledge there was just this itching question that held its ground, stronger than the rest.

“who- no. What am I? “

A sharp breath hits the wall, it's warm and humid; leaving a very temporary, white, fog on the surface.

It hits my face again, after reflecting from the wall.

I pull my glove off, it's dark. My skin is a pale, fake looking color. It's not quite white, but lacking the look of life. In fact, its some where in the middle of the wide spectrum, that is skin color. I stare blankly at the supposed cell compound.

Was that me? It was hard to believe that this textured, slightly fuzzy layer was what people would see, if they were to glance at me. I was interested, and there was nothing left here. I honestly didn't care if death came or not, maybe something new would come of this. I wasn't bored, I just wasn't quite interested in the place I was in. Too long in the wrong position.

I set my glove aside, folding it- to what I thought was neat.

My finger nails would do the job, pain wouldn't be apparent. It never was. Pain was taken away long ago.

My fingers were pressed into the underbelly of my forearm, I held them there for many moments before digging them into the flesh. Involuntary tears escaped their ducts, as the numb feeling of synthetic pain shot through me. I grunted in frustration. Closed my eyes.

The bleeding stopped. My eyes traveled down to my arm, to see the damage and why it was no longer bleeding. Some sort of tube, hard and glassy instead of fleshy. My eyes widened in disbelief and I began to pick away more of the skin and flesh- seemingly synthetic.

I I wiped away the annoying liquid that was pricking, stinging in the corners of my eyes.

Why had I been here for so long? It was confusing to me and my tears weren't the best thing right now. I felt no pain. I didn't want to die, just for the first time in a while I was curious.

I was curious as to why I wasn't dying.

I continued to tear and pick at the protesting material, ripping myself apart basically. It buzzed like hell and I'm not sure why I even bothered. My efforts were far from fruitless, as I took a bit of saliva to clean the glassy tube.

What that revealed, what I saw still chills me to this day.

Wires. I blinked in surprise, what was this? It was far from what I'd expected.

I was pretty sure that I was having a bad nightmare, but the buzzing never came during my restless unconscious periods. This was real, so real, and all I could imagine was getting rid of this feeling in the back of my mind, that I'd been lied to in some way, that I'd been fooled and tricked.

I grabbed the glove in disgust. I no longer wanted to see anything like this. Frustration, anger, and confusion pumped like adrenaline through my veins. My shoulders were tense and uncomfortable, and the 'deep slumber' as they called it would not come to me. I'd have to wait for the bright light, for the heat in the room.

I'd almost forgotten how cold it was and I wish I had. It was too cold in here, the darkness brought no warmth to these aching bones. The wet of my tear stained cheeks lost heat too easily. The heating wasn't to come for hours, I reminded myself, but what even was an hour to me anymore.

I wrapped my arms around my own shaking figure; ignoring the increasing buzzing in the back of my mind.

It'd been a long time since this had happened, at least I think, but ''why''s, ''what''s, and ''where''s flooded my mind like a river into a dip of land. Overflowing and stuttering messily, doubled over and under the tongue in incomprehensible sentences.

Every word that stumbled out of my mouth, stuttering and tripping over the tongue made me more comparable to that of a madman's behavior.

My hand shot over my mouth. The leathery material of the glove pressed against the gentle skin of my lips and coarsely brushed over my tongue, as it had not yet fully pulled back. This all happened in one swift motion, pressing back the words I would not utter, in fear of causing trouble; to the supposed other people who spent there time in this building for reasons unknown.

I wasn't supposed to wonder, to realize or think. 
I was supposed to pay attention to our work, continue with my life without question. Without a feeling of meaning, loss, pain, happiness, or anger, or anything that could possibly get in the way. I was supposed to be a robot, and that's always how I'd viewed it, when I couldn't clear my mind. I always thought that it was only outright blatant stupidity, to think that a human could handle such treatment. 

Now there was nothing I could say about the situation and that caused me to wonder more. I was outright unproductive and just soaking up resources. I was not useless. I knew I wasn't. No one was useless. Neither a person's strengths nor faults could rob them of significance in any situation, not if they were real, but I wasn't, at least I didn't think so. 

The offending image of wires intertwining within me, gears turning like clockwork, it made me feel as thought anything I did was pointless. I was a machine, I was brought to a point where I wasn't significant. .

Flashbacks were always my favorite. I could control them, I could bring back happy memories at a thought, like the snap of my metaphorical fingers. Memories, memories, memories. Even the thoughts of the previous events, that I treasure so deeply bring peace, comfort, and warmth to me.

Flashbacks are the most precious, the most sacred to my mental health.