At first it was just dark, not black like blindfolded, but more like a world bereft of light; no sound, no direction, no sense. Pieces of memory came to me, cold, metal against my forehead. A gun? I... Remember the muzzle of a gun, nothing more. After that a sound that's hard to define, like footsteps moving away... Too fuzzy to be real, maybe just an echo in my damaged brain. I'm not even sure. Was I shot? Dead? When? Where? Why was there no pain?
One image after another began to emerge, pressing in from the dark. A pregnant woman stands on the edge of a building; it's nighttime, the wind blows through her hair and the look in her eyes is shattered. I... I spoke to her. Told her to come down slowly. Even lied about me having lost a child myself. She cried. She backed away. And, I hugged her, not the least bit satisfied in the sense of helping; though... It was interesting.
Another leap. The hospital I once visited, the antiseptic-smelling hallway, and the quiet voice of the young man on the phone in the back garden. Sobs were held back. He'd just been told that his grandmother couldn't have surgery because there was no money. I handed him a card. I didn't write my real name. I was just passing by. Didn't know him at all. But I paid for everything, even without any material reason. Vague, but he thanked me... I don't know the rest of that young man's story.
Then, the stench of the street. A cheap dog, a stray cat, each with a disease. I took one, then another, then another, then another, and so on. My house was full of sick, half-dead creatures. I cured them all; of course, thanks to the veterinarian's efforts. Eventually I kept them, though they still looked damaged and some guests called them disgusting.
But the more I remembered, the more... Something felt wrong. Memories began to collide... There was a memory I didn't recognize. Neon-lit streets lit up in a haze of purple and blue, cars floating in the air and giant buildings with advertising projections stuck on each one. I saw my left hand, metal. Part of my face was replaced by a mechanic. But... It wasn't me, it wasn't me. It wasn't my life, the world was too advanced.
Another flash infiltrated, sharp. A sword. A rain of blood. The bodies of giant creatures were slaughtered amidst the ruins of the castle. I felt my breath heavy, my muscles tense, something exploded around me, but everything felt foreign. This hand raised a glowing sword, this body jumped, this tongue uttered something (but it wasn't me moving in it). Even the smell of wet soil and blood in the air felt like it belonged to someone else—no, it was someone else.
The classroom desks, the teacher's voice, the overly cheerful children. I sat on the backmost bench close to the window, feeling tortured if I must say so. Bored. Not because the lessons were boring, but because this world, the world I lived in was too normal. I want something more, but I'm nothing more than just a school student. It's nothing more than a casual life, similar to my life... Although it's more boring, I know it's not my life even if it looks similar.
It's mine again, because I once did it with full awareness. I remember a small shop on the corner of a street, the smell of toast, the owner old and cheerful. I remember the owner handing out food for nothing, sometimes to animals or orphans; just because he thought the world needed more small kindnesses, so he said. And I... Burned down his shop. I remember the sound of the fire as it touched his skin, how he screamed not because of pain, but because he didn't understand; why people like him get things like this, clearly etched into every inch of his facial muscles. I didn't make him die. I just wanted to know what would happen if someone like him, a good person, a really good person, experienced a contradiction. Would he still be good? Or would the people he helped care? No, the world is silent.
Then there was the woman who ran the orphanage, very gentle, very patient. She took care of more than twenty children, feeding them with her own money. When I came, she welcomed me like family, even gave me tea. I approached her, then stabbed her in the back. Slowly. A small knife. Many times. I wonder how many times someone can be stabbed before their body stops resisting. I remember the sound that came out of his throat, like the last sigh of an unfinished song.
And, that boy... I remember his name: Maximilian. He was twelve years old, light skin with innocent eyes. I fabricated evidence: video, DNA, a forced confession. I put him in prison, for life. Of course, the media loved it. Everyone thought he was a budding little predator. I just wondered if the legal system could really be gamed that easily. Turns out it can.
The funny thing is, none of it left me feeling guilty. I'm not even sure if I care. There was no inner voice screaming. No motive for revenge. No past to haunt me. Sometimes, other times, it's just a deal to win a client's case.
I felt pulled back into another form, the memory of another being to be more precise. I—no, I was standing on top of a black tower looking out over a valley of death filled with thousands of dead creatures. Humans, animals, and other species. All of them answering to one voice: mine. I raised a hand that was not a human hand, and they moved. They invaded the city, they tore down the walls, they decorated the sky. I laughed. The laughter echoed like rusted metal rubbing together, which was definitely not a human voice. But I knew it wasn't me, that much was clear from its shape.
More pieces followed, dismembered like a broken record. A laboratory full of fluorescent green liquid, strange symbols glowing in beakers, and a half-perfect humanoid writhing in a glass capsule. I—no, he, I... Recording reactions, mixing logic. It looked like a chemistry experiment, only I was there to call it alchemy. He and I called the creature "The First Child". But my child failed to live up to expectations, so I burned it. Then made it again. Again. Again. Again, and again, until I stopped counting. Effort does not betray, and one of my children finally succeeded.