Not even a bliss for a second

Life was back to normal, or at least that's what I told myself, despite the constant eerie presence of the mysterious men in black who seemed to be watching my every move.

To my surprise, Adonis, my creepy dear friend, mustered up the courage to inform my grandmother about my memory loss. I expected her to panic and rush me to the hospital for a battery of tests, but her reaction was far from what I anticipated. Instead, she went into a state of frenzy, muttering cryptic phrases about something impending and my inevitable loss of self. It sent shivers down my spine, and her response was far from reassuring.

Confused and desperate for answers, I pressed my grandmother for clarification. Was I dying? But she dismissed the notion, claiming that if that were the case, she wouldn't be as concerned as she was. It was just another reason why I had both love and resentment for my enigmatic grandmother.

With a sense of urgency, she spoke of traveling to meet someone and seeking a solution to my predicament. She assured me that I wasn't mentally ill but promised to explain everything once she returned. I couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and anticipation, eager to finally unravel the mystery that had consumed my life.

Despite my best efforts, I failed to shake off the overbearing bodyguards who shadowed my every move, seemingly more interested in gossiping about me than ensuring my safety. Determined to take matters into my own hands, I decided to visit a doctor and undergo a battery of tests, hoping to find some answers. And so, here I was, standing outside the third hospital in as many days, having seen three different brain surgeons, all of whom pronounced me physically and mentally healthy. It was as if my memory loss was a cruel trick, playing games with my mind.

Leaving the sterile hospital behind, I found solace in the nearby park. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, providing a refreshing contrast to the stifling atmosphere I had just escaped. Collapsing onto a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree, I ran my hand over my face, feeling the weight of frustration building inside me like a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding.

The events of the hospital visit played over and over in my mind, a relentless loop that threatened to drive me to the edge. Adonis's revelations about my disappearance, the glimpses into hidden layers of reality, and the unsettling encounter with the presence in my room—it was all too much to process.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh, my breath mingling with the rustling leaves above me. The urge to scream, to unleash the pent-up emotions, overwhelmed me, but I resisted. I couldn't risk drawing attention to myself, not in a world where the line between perception and reality had blurred so significantly.

My fingers clenched around the edge of the bench, my knuckles turning white as I grappled with the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind. The fear of losing control, of being branded as delusional, gripped me like a vice. I had to find a way to navigate this new reality without completely unraveling. With a determined resolve, I picked up my phone and began to search for any traces of the incident. I scrolled through my social media, messages, and even my call log, hoping to find some clues that might jog my memory. But there was nothing. It was as if that part of the day, the day I Adonis claimed I went missing had been erased from existence.

Frustration and worry bubbled up within me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being kept in the dark, that there was a puzzle with missing pieces that I desperately needed to solve

Closing my eyes, I took deep, deliberate breaths, focusing on the sensation of the air filling my lungs and then leaving in a steady rhythm. It was a simple grounding technique that I had learned in the past, a way to anchor myself when everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

The sound of children playing nearby and the distant hum of traffic provided a semblance of normalcy, a reminder that life was still moving forward despite my personal upheaval. As my racing thoughts gradually slowed, a sense of determination bubbled up within me. I couldn't let the fear and frustration consume me.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I straightened my posture and opened my eyes. The park around me seemed a little less daunting, a little less like a labyrinth of uncertainties. I was still a part of this world, no matter how complicated it had become.

Resisting the urge to scream wasn't a sign of weakness—it was a testament to my strength and resilience.

As I gazed at the children joyfully frolicking in the fields, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia washed over me. I attempted to recall my own childhood, but it remained an elusive haze, as if someone had cast a thin veil over those memories. Even the faces of my parents were just out of reach, slipping away like fragments of a forgotten dream. The void where those memories should be left an ache in my heart, a yearning for something I couldn't quite grasp.

But then, almost as if to reassure me, I unlocked my phone. And there it was—the home screen displaying a cherished photo of Samantha, me, and my adopted parents, our smiles frozen in time. The sight of it offered a glimmer of relief amidst the turmoil that had become my life. It was a tangible reminder that some parts of my reality were still intact, that the experiences I had shared with loved ones were not entirely lost to me.

What was happening to me? That question echoed in my mind like a haunting refrain. It felt as if the ground beneath me was shifting, threatening to pull me into a chasm of uncertainty. Perhaps I was slowly fading away, destined to forget even my own name, the very essence of who I was. The thought was disheartening, a cold grip on my soul that sent shivers down my spine.

With a heavy heart, I resolved to cling to the moments I still had, to savor every remaining memory before it slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. I knew I couldn't let the fear of losing myself consume me entirely. The photo on my phone was a testament to the fact that some parts of my identity were still tangible, still worth fighting for.

Determined to make the most of the present, I stood up from the bench. I mustered a bright smile for the little girl who jogged past me, her laughter infectious and heartwarming. It was a simple exchange, a fleeting connection with a stranger, but it reminded me that moments of joy and connection were still within reach. I stood up and headed back to work. It was time to embrace the fleeting days of bliss that lay ahead.

***********************************************

I stepped into my office just in time for lunch when Samantha seemingly materialized out of thin air and whisked me away for our midday meal.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm perfectly fine," I replied, trying to brush off her worry.

She shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I don't know, you just seem off, that's all."

Her words struck a chord, as Adonis had made a similar observation earlier. It was unnerving.

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I'm alright," I said with a playful smile, not willing to let her think she could get a free lunch out of me.

"You know me too well, my friend," Samantha said, giving me a proud pat on the back. "But seriously, I worry about you. Your grandmother has increased your security, and you know you can talk to me about anything, no matter how crazy it may seem, right?"

"Yes, because you're the queen of craziness," I quipped, lightening the mood.

Samantha beamed and nodded. "Alright then, let's go grab some food, shall we?"

Thirty minutes into our lunch, a sudden impulse surged through me. I stood up abruptly and announced that I had to go somewhere but would return in ten minutes.

Samantha, who was engrossed in ogling a cute guy in front of her, waved me away absentmindedly.

Leaving the restaurant, I turned right and kept walking, almost as if my body was being guided by an external force. I paid little attention to my surroundings until I reached my destination. It was as if my legs knew exactly where to take me.

Seconds later, exhaustion overcame me, and I collapsed, my body succumbing to the strain of the walk.

I couldn't ascertain how long I had been unconscious, but I awoke to the chilling breeze and the cacophony of noise around me.

Struggling, I pried my eyes open, feeling as though they were glued shut.

To my astonishment, I was standing. Was I sleeping while standing?

I glanced downward and froze, a surge of terror coursing through me.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Meanwhile, back at the lab, Samantha anxiously glanced at her watch. Six hours had passed, and there was no sign of her friend.

She had made 20 missed calls, left numerous voicemails and texts across every social media platform she could think of. Yet, there was no response.

Sighing with frustration, Samantha contemplated calling Alora's grandmother, but she didn't want to worry the sweet old woman unnecessarily.

"I'll just swing by her place to check on her," she muttered to herself.

Grabbing her coat, Samantha headed toward the exit when the growing crowd in front of the TV at the large lobby near the entrance caught her attention.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a dazed and bewildered Alora standing precariously close to the edge of the rooftop of Maquoketa's Empire—the tallest building in the city.

Alora's greatest fear had always been heights.