Between Lines and Memories

Jonathan's memory isn't what it wasn't before it was as it is. The sparrows squawked and pecked at roofing of the silent mental foundations which were coming loose. He was walking through a world made of constantly changing variables, at times collapsing onto themselves, to create a tiny window of infinite wisdom through which the direct link to consciousness could be established, only to then be torn back apart into the surrounding world, piece by piece making less and less sense again.

He words sliced apart the mundanity of the process. Johnathan could feel it now.

he would mutter to himself:
'I know what is real, I know who I am, I remember what everything is'

And in turn the world would shift, the most simple series of tasks becoming legendary obstacles, just one more step into the infinite complexity. How much does that even matter. Will power was drained away with every thought.

Joshua felt it too.

Aware now of the fact that his mind was shared by another version of himself. Occupied by an intruding force which was in its all fundamental states, utterly useless. Just another self defense mechanism, against some greater danger. An allergic reaction to the host body. Its just doing its job, trying to protect the larger whole.

'It may be for the better' he thought. The packets of medication sitting on the bedside table, half a pack down already. What good did it do anyway.

'What good wouldnt it do?' her voice sliced at the inner lining of his ear behind the main nerve
'Come now, whats the difference between this, and who you were before?' the voice continued, like a jittered program error 'Why even bother with it all'

Johnathan steeled his mind. The telephone was ringing. The gramaphone played the last scenes of his last five minutes in reverse. Stuttering Johnathan lifted his head to his hand 'Hold it-  -together' were the last five minutes played forward as words.

The room stretched, constrained, the gravity turned left and all the writing on the wall followed suit.

Joshua sat back down. The meds. How long has it been?
Had he taken the morning dose? Was there a morning dose?
Were there any other meds to take that have completely evaded his sight?

Sobriety, in its worst, the most tragic kind of insanity.
Sitting among the boxes, ink running down the page.
Coffee spilt, milk off.
words. thoughts.
the sanatorium.
Tragedy and comedy.

Madness wandered out of the window from her mind, through her eye everything was right as it was meant to be.

In flux.