Instincts

Day 4,173, 15:36 • Published in Ireland Canada • by Amaryllis Bloom

I sit here, staring out at the mundane. The sun glaring at me from above. This setting could be Chernobyl. Desolate. The sheep have paraded through the gates. I still hear the ghost clicks or each scan of a badge. My arm instinctively pops up with a half hearted wave to nothingness. Instincts. A funny thing those are. I can't remember much of my life prior to this position. A job I took after I woke up with an empty shell of a mind. I wasn't supposed to survive. A witness said they saw me running into gunfire and I took one to the head as I jumped onto a grenade, which they stated never detonated. Lucky me. I feel like a caged animal in this glass house. I hear radio static and my pulse quickens. I get tense. I scan the open space for any movement. I don't know why. I guess some things never leave you. Even when you can't remember ever knowing it. I feel lost at times. Surrounded by people who claim to know me, but no one sticks out. No one has a feeling of familiarity. Except one. I have seen him once since I lost who I was. I don't remember him, but when I looked in his eyes, I saw something. Like I had looked into them before. He didn't say much when he visited. He just stared. I can almost feel his sense of loss. But what did he lose? -click click-

Again, nothing there. Maybe my brain is trying to keep me focused on the present instead of trying to remember. Maybe my mind knows, somewhere deep inside, and doesn't want me to know who I was. Why those eyes grabbed a hold of me. My head hurts. This sun shining down on a cloudless day. Seems to be stuck in the sky, at that particular spot. A few deer have meandered into the open spaces. I could easily take it out, only about 150 yards away from me. Winds are about 10mph from the west. I touch my head, where the bullet stuck me. I don't think I could ever hold a gun. And yet, the thought of the steel, the smell of gunpowder, the weight of it in my hands, all feels very comforting.


The story of what I did sounds like a movie. Why would I do that? Run towards danger? Why does this person have eyes that pierce? Could they be connected? I have asked every one who he is. No one really says anything. They get shifty-eyed, they change the subject. Are they protecting me? Or him?

I hope the answers come soon. My head hurts again.

See you on the battlefield

I have no idea why I wrote that. But it seemed as natural as breathing. Instinct maybe?