Three hours and eight miles later. I'm finally home.
If you have a minute, I'd like to tell you a bit about myself.
The first thing you need to understand is that I am alone. I've alone for a pretty long time now. I'm used to it. I'm content.
Before I became more or less a hermit, I found that I had two passions in life. One was performing.
Even today, when I find that I can't relate to others,
I can still stand in front of them and make them laugh
or surprise them. The irony is strong enough to taste.
It doesn't taste good.
In case your wondering, My second passion was a girl named Kathryn.
But I'll get into that later..
I generally face the same day to day problems as every other person, except that when every other person gets stuck, they have their
friends and associates to back them up.
I know that you don't want to hear me describe my admittedly less than fascinateing lifestyle,
so instead, I'll describe my day with a much more intersting allegory.
I used to find joy in the company of others.
Now, I only have the company of myself.
My attention is stolen by a green square, on the other side of the room.
I want to be its friend more than anything I've ever wanted. I decide to approach it.
The square does not react to my approach.
Does it not notice me? Or is it only pretending not to notice me?
...Witch would be worse?...
Up close, I can see that the green square is a door. I think that we can be friends anyway. I decide to move to the next room.
I see some platforms up ahead and decide to walk over them.
Mr. Door seems to be a better friend than the platforms..
...Now that risk is involved, walking across the platforms doesn't seem as easy to me..
I start thinking about how awful it would be to fall.
..I find myself proud of my ability to get past these platforms.
I feel confused
A bit tingy,
But mostly confused.
I briefy attempt to think of something to think. Nothing worthwhile emerges.
I haven't talked to anyone lately. But atleast I know I can solve my own problems.
I see a wall blocking the path to the exit, I feel dissatisfied.
The area down below is quite spacious.
I'm grateful for my above average ability to work alone.
I notice a strange forcefield in this room. I become gradually more and more curious.
It doesn't seem to block me at all.
Undering standing the forcefield, I find a greenish one instead of a pinkish one in this next room.
Staring at this worthlessly large staircase. I reflect on my past struggles.
...Luckily for me, not one was watching as I hopped around like a crazy person...
I search for reasons why I don't desire companionship.
I selttle on avoidance of the issue. I can clearly get by without others, anyway.
I find myself unable to leave the question alone. Why can I not be with people?
I instantly notice how similar this room looks to the previous one, and almost feel cheated untill I realize that my previous tactic will not work again.
It doesn't take long for me to understand that I'm going to need some timing to get through here.
I've gotten used to the idea of solving mental problems, but I still enjoy a test of my physical abilities here and there.
I think back to the first day that Kathryn and I met. Our paths converged, and suddenly we were a team.
This was before I was as reclusive as I have become today, so I had not learned to truly multitast yet. That talent grew out of simple necessity.
Her approach was quiet, as was my response. The connection was instant and unmistakable. A team.
I wasn't ready to let go.
When we faced a problem, we would solve it together. Today I find myself solving the same problems alone.
I was underappreciative. Plain and simple. Didn't understand just how much I needed her. How much she needed me.
It was perfect. Everything. It was all perfect.
I helped her, and she helped me. Mutual.
I never suspected the end to come so quickly.
I found myself crushed by guild. I didn't leave the house for days.
But she was gone.
And now I find myself alone. I can't handle talking to people anymore.
Internally I visualize an overexcited man yelling. "Checkpoint!"
I grudgingly condider how the ability to start over from a different perspective would have been helpful earlier in life.
Maybe I could have let Kathryn not meet me in the first place.
...And like this, I continue...
What? Don't leave yet! I have more to say!
...I really do...
I've been tasked with psychoanalyzing Jack after his mental breakdown.
In general, he recalls his life very accurately- The things he says line up with all the records.
The first problem is that he doesn't seem to remember any of my visits. I've talked to him once a week for the past eight years, and he always tells me the same things as if we have never met before.
He describes himself as a loner, And this makes a whole lot of sense as he has been kept in solitary confinement for the duration of his stay at the hospital.
He always briefly talks about his life, and eventually gets into the story of how he lost a loved one, Kathryn.
He understands that she has died, and he certainly feels at least somewhat responsible, but he doesn't recall that he murdered her. She was found burried in their backyard in a green package- Evidently, It was the only box large enough for use as a coffin that Jack could find. Also of note were the two flowers that he planted next to the makeshift grave.
He considers her death to be the reason that he can't talk to people anymore. I suppose that in a way, he is correct.
This will be my final report on Jack. I don't find any reason to belive that he will recover from his current state of severe mental illness, and he is far too dangerous to himself and others to allow his release.
The shrink leaves, and suddenly I don't have a person to tell my story to anymore.