I'm Trapped in the World Inside My Head | Part 2
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Day later, things had been slow at work. We were going through a season when few parents were looking for adoption, but we held down the fort. No matter what, not a single child would be left behind. Since the last incident, it had been quiet and lifeless. My friends' expressions had lost their light. Their faces were often frozen and emotionless. The news was the same as always.

The stunning anchor with olive skin and brown eyes on the TV blared in the office. "Once again, we have sunny skies and comfortable weather," he said with a grin. "Yesterday, Jezebel lost her stuffed bear, but Peter retrieved it. Peter continues his good work in the community. Thanks from all of us to the fire department." He tapped his stack of papers against the desk and went silent. I was running out of news ideas, and things got very mundane.

Day after day, they reported on cats in trees and fluff pieces that made progressively less sense. It put me constantly on edge. In this fragile world, I spent every moment afraid something would inevitably push it over the edge. The anchor suddenly dropped the grin and stared off into the void. He looked back up, now sporting a grin too wide for his face. "What a sweet little town, Michael. How quaint, this world you built for yourself.

The anchor's smile widened. "How much longer can you last, Michael?" His eyes flashed yellow. "Hey, Michael, why not look at the hourglass?" I pushed my body into my chair, white-knuckling the armrest. The anchor stood up and locked his eyes, not on the camera, but on mine. "Who knows? Maybe time is nearly up. Come on, just a peek?" He sat back in his chair. He laughed as he swiveled back and forth.

The hourglass was a looming reminder of just how bad it really was. I never checked it. If only a few years had passed, I'd crumble. The anchor drummed the desk. "You really are so easy, you know." Delilah, the beautiful, fair-skinned secretary and office princess, stalked behind me. She and David had an on-again, off-again relationship. They loved each other, but neither could muster up the courage to make the first move. That's the story I gave them.

I created my dream girl and couldn't fathom us together, so I gave her a dream guy. Delilah, with a familiar grin and glowing yellow eyes, slowly made her way to me with a dance routine. She stepped gently and effortlessly, hopping on a desk and twirling like nobody was watching. Her elegant steps were entrancing. This trance ended the moment she spoke. She held my head in her hands.

"Michael, aren't you sick of your imaginary friends? Of this cardboard world held together by twine?" Delilah moved within inches of my face. "All these sickly sweet drones, constructed entirely from scraps of the TV tropes and lazy stereotypes that convinced you of what an ideal life would look like." Delilah backed up and sat atop the desk across from me. "It's sad, really. To be surrounded by the life you never had.

"You could call it a mockery." Delilah poked me with her foot. "It's faker than fake, Michael." The grin stayed plastered on, even as she spoke. Memories flashed through my mind. Little things I locked away. For a moment, I was back in my bed just after Mom died. That old me was wracked with sobs and disgustingly malnourished. A walking corpse. I held a family portrait with Dad cut out to my chest.

After mom died, I used to retreat into fantasy worlds all the time. But they felt fake. Everything felt fake. Even my real life. The actual pain I went through felt fake. Then, I snapped back into my world. Luke, my boss, was there to meet me. Luke put an arm around me. "Well, Michael, quit or go mad." Luke's sharp teeth clacked as he spoke.

His large frame and stern features pressured me as his grip tightened. "Either way, it will certainly be entertaining." Luke brought me up with him. His eyes turned back to their deep, piercing blue. He suddenly went back into character, relaxing and patting my shoulder. "Michael, you good buddy? You look like you've seen a ghost." My legs gave out, and my stomach wrenched. "I have to go." I stood up and ran out.

Away from my imaginary friends and coworkers. Away from my fake job and further into delusion. My mad dash led me back home. Or the place I called home, at least. I opened the door to my empty living room and walked in, crashing onto my couch. I missed mom. Even in this dream world, I couldn't really make it without her. I was playing my role just right. But without her, it felt like I had no anchor to any reality. Not even my own little game of house.

The kitchen was completely empty when I stepped through the awning. I couldn't waste mental energy recreating taste, and my diet before moving to this place was just frozen foods and snacks. I looked at my dining table and was greeted with a shock that caused my entire world to nearly fall apart. It was Mom. She sat perfectly still in a chair in the room's corner.

"Mom!" I shouted, running up to her. "How are you? I thought you'd never..." I went to throw my arms around her, but I hit empty air. "Mom, it's me! It's Michael!" She didn't react, her face frozen in a vacant stare. I waved my hand in front of her face, but didn't get a response. From the beginning, I'd tried to imagine Mom in this world, but my mind blocked all attempts. The guilt over failing her was too powerful.

Aside from that, when I did nearly succeed in imagining her, something was always wrong. It ended up being uncanny and demented. It was less painful to keep her out of my world completely. Before dad went to prison, mom would protect me at the cost of her frail body. After that, we would huddle together in an unending darkness. As much as we were the only comfort the other had, I think we also sucked the life out of each other. I couldn't stand to look at her.

"You shouldn't be here!" I slammed the wall next to me, rattling the house. "You're not her! Get the fuck out now!" I screamed, with tears in my eyes. My composure eroded. Time stopped in my world, and cracks appeared in the air. The intangible thing that looked like mom fixed me with an empty stare. Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. All the while, she kept that stoic expression. Her tears threw me back into those miserable memories.

We were back in my room, where she had to coax me to leave the safety of my blankets after dad punished me. I was a kid again. She lifted the blankets and hugged me. She mouthed something I couldn't make out while crying and then disappeared. I closed my eyes. There was an ear-splitting sound of glass being broken, and when I opened them again, my world had vanished, and I was back in that goddamn white room. I averted my eyes from the hourglass. It would be some time before I was stable enough to recreate my world.

God knows how long it had been since I last saw that place. The room felt too small. I felt the walls pushing against me in every direction, crushing me. It was so quiet. My heart wasn't beating, and I couldn't breathe. Out of the silence came a single sound that demanded my attention. The clink of tiny grains of sand bouncing off of glass. I knew I shouldn't check. I knew it would break me.

But I had to know. There was a burning, morbid curiosity that demanded I turn my head. So I did. Something snapped inside of me. One final string binding me together. The last time I checked it, it was a little under one-tenth of the way there. That time, it was one-twentieth of the way full.

Stars swam in my vision, and I shrieked, drowning out the little sound of the hourglass. I smashed my head on the floor, not feeling anything, of course. After pausing briefly, I noticed a small slip of paper under the hourglass. I grabbed it, hoping for some kind of help. It could only have been from the djinn, it read. "I hope you didn't think the hourglass was accurate. I put it there for decoration. May its beautiful and sleek design ease some of your distress.

"Don't worry, you're nearly there. Or perhaps it has been but a few days. Time is quite unreliable, with nothing around to measure it against." I thrashed and shouted, and smashed my frail body for hours, maybe days, hell, maybe even years. It took longer than I could fathom, but I found the tiny scraps of my determination.

I had to make that hell worth it. It had to mean something in the end. No matter what, I would bring my mom back. Liz Financial Literacy Month. That's right. They made a whole month reminding you to finally take control of your money. Good news is you don't need 30 days. Acorns makes it easy to start saving and investing for your future in just five minutes. And thanks to our sponsor, Acorns, you don't need to be an expert.

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I forgot her voice, and she couldn't make a sound. I finally forgot who she was, and I never saw her again. All that remained was a name. Day after day, I walked into the office as details were abandoned. My fractured mind could no longer sustain my world. As I fell apart, so did it. Ruth walked up to me with a stack of files. "This week's work, hon. Keep up the great work, Michael." She finished and walked off with a smile.

Every day it was the same lines. My imaginary friends ran out of any original dialogue. My co-workers now looked like grotesque caricatures of themselves. David had a big nose from the beginning, but as time passed, he lost all his features except one massive nose on his horrific fleshy face. Delilah's face was now dominated by a huge pair of full lips.

Their voices were scrambled. Every word sounded like it was spoken alongside dozens of others. Which voice was their own? I had no idea. I walked out of the office. Whether or not I stayed meant nothing. It wasn't worth taking a peek at the files. I already knew what they were. Just stacks and stacks of my face with new traumatic backstories. My home came into sight as I drifted down the long main street.

Buildings had disappeared, and I didn't even know which ones. The sky was an infinite white backdrop. I walked past the K-12 school that housed every child in my world and saw them playing in the yard. "Play with us, Michael!" they shouted together as one. The kids all looked like failed imitations of me at different ages. I hadn't seen my reflection in decades. There was no way to remember how I used to look.

Once, I created a mirror in my world, but when I looked at it, all I saw was a blurry face with a nasty, sharp-toothed grin and yellow eyes that sucked in the world around them. There was a recent addition to my house, the thing that looked like Mom had left and something that looked like Dad had replaced her. He wore the flannel and jeans he'd returned home from work in before demanding food or alcohol. His face was stuck in a familiar scowl.

He'd look just like that when he hit mom or threw things at me. "Michael. Frail. Weak. Small. Pathetic." Dad's voice cut out and ended with static. He repeated that chant endlessly, until each syllable was seared into my consciousness. There really wasn't much to that man. Maybe my memories were skewed. What if Dad had good moments? I wouldn't know.

Time and trauma had washed the details away, until all I could remember was the fear and sadness. I would fantasize about him being killed by a cellmate in prison. Hopefully, it hurt. Hopefully, it would be over something meaningless, like not sharing a carton of milk. Wouldn't that have been nice if there wasn't even a single person to give his death a thought?

I imagined him on the floor of his cell with a toothbrush shiv through his neck. His cellmate would laugh at how pathetic it was. Then, his body would be cremated, shoved in a plastic bag, and thrown in a fucking dumpster. I would go to the landfill, find his ashes, and dance over them. It was time to accept that I wasn't going to make it. Year? It doesn't matter. Day? It's too late now.

The town square was falling apart, and the road was full of bottomless pits. The sky was white, a white more oppressive than darkness. Few houses were left, and the once full streets were devoid of life. The air was laced with networks of cracks, and shards of broken constructs littered the ground. There was a persistent ringing in my ears. It grew louder and louder, reaching volumes I thought were impossible. The podium I stood behind was shoddy and sad.

I tilted my head back and yelled into the sky. It didn't respond. "My friends! My only companions left in the world! It's time to say goodbye!" The last residents had gathered in front of me. They were faceless apparitions that wandered around and faded in and out as they pleased. They collapsed to the ground, screaming in anguish and crying hysterically.

"Please, Michael, we don't want to die! We don't want to leave you!" Delilah shouted in a one-woman chorus of voices. Of my residents, she was the closest thing left to a real human. The last with human skin and hands that a preschooler could have drawn. "Look at that," I thought. Hands were always hard for me, you know? I always drew the thumb too long and the fingers too short. Even if it were awful, Mom would put it on the fridge.

She'd pat my head too and give me candy as a reward. I snapped back to attention. "I can't stay, Delilah. You'll fall apart." "So will I. Thank you for being there for me all these years. I love you all." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My residents shrieked and howled, their anguished wails filling every last corner of my world. Memories resurfaced. "Hey, they sound like those black horse riders from the Lord of the Rings. Ringwraiths, right?"

Mom and I used to watch the whole trilogy in a day. Dad never let us finish, though. He wanted the TV to himself, so he would snatch the remote from my hands and yell at me to leave. My mind meandered. The deafening sound of glass shattering drowned out everything else. My world fractured, and the pieces disappeared into the abyss. Colors drained from the scenery like soap down a sink. The scene dredged up another memory. Oh yeah.

That reminds me of when I dropped one of my Hot Wheels cars into the garbage disposal. I nicked my middle finger on the blade pretty deep, but I got the toy back. After fixing me up, Mom flipped her lid and scolded me for hours. She told Dad, maybe expecting him to back her up,

No. He looked at me for a bit and turned around. He told me the stitches weren't worth a $30 copay, and I had to suck it up. Flashes of my life before kept pouring in, each hazier and more outlandish than the last. Eventually, once they conflicted, I realized what was happening. Wait, I never did any drawing. I never watched Lord of the Rings with Mom. She hated violent movies. I never cut my finger. I have never tried Hot Wheels.

I howled with laughter, sitting on the ground as my world fell apart. Dad's figure stood a few yards away in the center of my dying world. His face was blurry, but his limbs were all attached. And he still had the same denim jeans and steel-toed boots. And that old faded flannel. He had haunted me for decades, following me and spitting out broken curses. For the last couple of years before my world's end, he could barely string together words. I couldn't get rid of him, no matter what.

The more I tried to push him away, the closer he stuck to me. I looked him dead in what may have been his eyes and spoke to him for the final time in my world. "What did I do to you? I don't get why you hated me." He gave no reaction whatsoever. Nothing would change. Nothing would give me closure. "I tried, Dad. I really did. Mom never let me outside as a kid. It really was just the three of us. That's all I had." I walked up closer to him until we were nearly face to face.

I didn't do anything to make you hate me. I even tried to get your attention for years before I realized it was pointless. What the fuck did you want from me? He was unmoved. I got much louder and angrier, seizing him by the shoulders. You know, maybe if you bothered to raise me, I would have been closer to the son you wanted. But you didn't. Because you're weak, Dad. Even weaker than me. Without realizing it, I was crying.

You were a gross, ugly, alcoholic loser. Your wife hated you, your kid was terrified of you, and you couldn't save a dime. What the fuck is that? Grow the fuck up! My grip tightened on dad's shoulders. You're a stupid drunk who got his stupid ass locked in prison for the rest of his worthless life! I collapsed to the ground, yelling through tears. I wish I could kill you myself! But even after all this, I doubt I have it in me!

I was on my knees on the ground, gripping his coat with all my strength. "I'm getting Mom back! You couldn't dream of doing what I've done! You would have cracked after a month in here!" His blurry face remained unreadable. "I wish I could have told you all this in the real world, even though I know I would never get through to you." I let go of his coat and stared at the street as it faded to that all-consuming white.

I heard cracking, and then an explosion of glass as Dad shattered into millions of tiny pieces. Then it was gone. All of it. My precious world. Where I spent the vast majority of my life was gone forever. Year? Oh, now they go by. Day. One day closer. When I regained awareness of that god-awful room, the hourglass was still there. It had been some time since my world was destroyed.

Maybe years. Maybe millennia. The hourglass would toy with me. The sand was divided vertically, filling only the right side of the hourglass. Occasionally, the sand left the hourglass and danced around the room. When I tried to destroy it, it floated just out of reach. When I turned away to ignore it, it drifted back into my sight. I spent every moment taking inventory of what memories I had left.

If I remembered them, I could reinforce their existence to prevent them from fading away. Things were desperate and getting worse. I couldn't draw the line between dreams, waking moments in the real world, and life in my world. I went through my childhood experiences, struggling to make sense of it all. I tried to recall my past. I used to love playing with Ezekiel, the Jacobson couple's kid.

We'd run in the mud and play tag when Mom wasn't watching. So much fun. I can't wait to see him again." I reminisced while lying on the floor, staring at the white void above and chuckling to myself. "What else? I could never forget my fourth grade teacher, Ruth. She was the sweetest woman I had ever met. When things at home got bad, she held me close and gave me her homemade cookies," I recounted.

My friends and the kind people I thought were in my life. I couldn't wait to get out of this place and meet them. Sometimes, I panicked and often forgot why I was in the white space. Eventually, my mind crumbled and I was unsure of my existence. "What? What is this place?" I asked the void. I stood up and wandered around until I heard a new voice. "It's a dream, Michael." The voice sounded like mine, but was much younger.

"Who are you?" I replied. "Do you know why I'm here?" I was met with silence. A new voice answered, and it sounded the same as mine. "You're dead, Michael. What else could this be? You're dead," it told me with a monotone inflection. A softer, more feminine voice cut in. "It's okay, Michael. You'll be out of here soon." They sounded familiar, and their words filled me with warmth. "Who are you?" I asked again.

She replied softly. A hint of sadness tinged her voice. The space was devoid of sound for a moment. I spun in circles, searching for the source of the voices. The young voice responded. The voice like mine told me.

Don't worry, Michael. You'll be home soon. I'll be waiting for you like always. The voice that claimed to be my mom replied, Hey, you guys seem to know me. What kind of person am I? I asked. I can't really remember anything. You're a gentle person and you care about others. The childish voice explained, You're a selfish coward. Total failure. But you've made it this far. At least you have that. The identical voice rebuked,

"You're my kind and loving son, my only most precious child. You are the most important person in my life." Mom's voice comforted me. "So that's how it is?" I responded. The voices were gone, and I was alone once again. Time passed. I couldn't say how much, since I hardly ever formed a coherent thought. Mostly, I stared into the white void, when I could think it was like TV static.

I wasn't able to string together multiple ideas or imagine anything clearly. The only things I hung onto were my name and something about being in that place because of my mom. What was I doing there? Endless solitude had been gobbling up my memories for too long. The memories left were warped and changed. Old memories combined with memories from my imaginary world and my dreams weaved themselves into my past. I always hated feeling trapped, I thought on one of my more lucid days.

Dad once stuffed me in a closet as a punishment, and when Mom tried to stop him, he threw her across the room. Luckily, Johnny heard from outside and pulled Dad away. I reminisced about this imaginary event. Mom told him not to call the cops, so Dad never faced any punishment like always. My mind went blank for a few hours after this. I used to have this imaginary friend, but he was so creepy.

Kids come up with the craziest things. It was huge. It had glowing eyes and a scary smile, but always kept me company. It loved its little practical jokes. We'd go back and forth for days. I left feeling nostalgic for this fictitious life. This was my last lucid period, until the end of my life in the unending, oppressive, maddening, and empty space that I was trapped in for a century. Year 100.

The first of the rest of my life. Everything went black. The lights in my prison shut off in an instant. I finally opened my eyes to the ceiling of my apartment. My soft bedsheets caressed my body, and I marveled at how many objects there were. It was overstimulating. The sound of the fan, the smell of my clothes, and my senses were bombarded. It took half an hour just to acclimate to the sudden onslaught of stimuli. Things barely remembered from this old life.

Something felt wrong. This place was familiar, but I wasn't sure why. I had a loose grasp on who I was. I had a name. Michael? There were Pink Floyd posters against my wall. My new scenery sparked some recollection. I loved that band. I always meant to take Delilah, but I got too nervous every time. I thought, it was strange thinking of Delilah's name.

I pictured my beloved friend and coworker, but she felt out of place. Everything felt out of place. I walked into my bathroom and looked in the mirror. A face I didn't recognize was mimicking my movements. It was wrong. Terrifying. The lanky, pale man before me had one foot out the door. Heavy bags weighed down his eyes and his posture was horrible. Was it me? The smell of eggs and toast wafted from the kitchen.

When I entered, I found a thin, gaunt woman cooking breakfast. She had messy brown hair and wore thick glasses. She looked tired, but not sad. "Oh, Michael, dear, you're up! It's already 11 o'clock. You really slept in." I gawked at her. She was familiar. Being unable to remember her was agitating. She was important, I could tell. I felt things. A warmth. A feeling of being protected. I looked into her eyes. "Miss?"

"Mom? You've been gone, Mom. Where did you go?" Seeing her made me happy, but it brought back a feeling of loss. "Why?" "Mom, I'm late for work." I paused and looked at the grandfather clock in the living room. "What work, Michael? You work from home, right?" she asked. "What about the office? The kids?" "Are you okay, Michael? Lie down for a bit. I'll make you some oatmeal." I drifted to my room. Something new was on my end table.

I made my way over to find a bloody chunk of flesh and a handwritten note under an ornate hourglass. The letter read: "Michael, I suppose congratulations are in order. You remain the sanest of any of my subjects. I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, as you have undoubtedly seen. Now, you may go on to live a full life, right? Well, whatever is left of you, that is. Gin of smoke and broken mirrors."

An ear. An hourglass. All so familiar. All so hard to place. The woman, Mom, walked into the room with a tray. In the darkness behind her, I thought I saw a tall figure with a sharp grin from ear to ear and vacuous yellow eyes. I screamed and hid under my covers. "Michael! What's wrong? Are you okay?" She rushed to my side and rubbed the blankets. Slowly, I lowered my sheets to meet her. The shadowy monster was gone.

She looked at me with worry. Rather than responding to her questions, I raised my covers.

"Please, tell me who I am." She reached to place her hand on my own, causing me to flinch. "You're my kind and loving son, my only most precious child. You are the most important person in my life." Her words sounded so familiar, I must have heard them in a dream. Mom told me her favorite stories from my childhood, trying to stitch the tattered fabric of my memories back together. But some damage can't be undone.

Some gashes stay open and some holes go unpatched. I was left with a patchwork mind filled with unraveled memories. It doesn't happen often, but when I have a lucid day, I gather my thoughts and tell my story to the orderlies and men in white coats who have already heard it countless times. I can't find my closest friends, Johnny, David, and Delilah. They keep telling me that it is just one big delusion. My friends, my workplace, my life.

The face in the mirror is not my own, no, it is Michael's face, whoever he is. And now, a long jagged smile and a pair of washed out yellow eyes wait around every corner, in every nook and cranny, in the dark, behind every door, in my dreams, just out of sight, and in every crevice of my broken mind.

Hey guys, if you enjoy a blend of science fiction and horror, be sure to check out my other podcast, The SCP Experience. This podcast takes you on a journey through the SCP Foundation archives, where strange anomalies, secret experiments, and unsettling mysteries collide. Let's just say it's not for the faint of heart. Be sure to search for The SCP Experience wherever you get your podcasts.