He walked into the room, his wiry locks of hair descending down the crevessaces of his molded an wrinkled skin of callused regard. The chains bound around his wrists creating a horrid sense of lost freedom and dwindling integrity throughout the room. His beard was short, but at best scraggy. His entire persona confirmed to me to be dark and decimated by the way he walked and in tone of his hidden face and emotions. He took a seat in the chair, facing the front of my desk as well as my cleanly self; paradoxical of his unfathomably grotesque variation of physical features.

The sound of locks and clanking metal could be heard as the door behind him was slammed shut, and the light fading out grew sparse in belligerent, incessant luminosity. The area imploded into an extremity of darkness’ chambers, with only the slightest apparition of something lucent above the desk. The silence sunk into an uninterpretable white noise for the background, as his gruff voice grew into an odd roaring sound of unbalanced groans.

“Doctor…” I held my breath in anticipation of another word, yet none came as expected. “Yes?” I responded, gripping my back tightly into the sinking leather of my chair. He looked down, almost as if avoiding any eye contact, though there was no way to see his face either way, for his long, greasy hair acted as a closed curtain. “I killed three people, one of ‘em my very wife.” This was no surprise to me. “I know this already, this is why we’re both here right now.” Strong, intimidating, he spoke, and in low growls, almost as if a lion protecting the rest of the herd.

He raised his seemingly heavy head, strength obviously wavering. I couldn’t see his eyes, nor the pain he must have witnessed through each, but I knew he was staring at me. As if I were rotten meat to be chewed upon and ripped into pieces of spoiled food for his delight. Such did the horrifying mind of his seem to proclaim through no action at all, yet with all the plentiful. He gazed into my past, into my very soul in the only dastardly contorted and devious way that something so monstrous may pass for common pleasure.

“Do you have a wife, doctor?” My phobia of the man quickly grew into protective instinct, though childish and perhaps pointless as of then. My eyes flourished into a stoic vision that pierced through the apprehensive guide my common personality had led me to. I placed my elbows on the large desk separated the beast from I and intertwined my fingers into a pair of fists in front of my lips. “I did,” I plainly responded. “You did? Well, what happened to her doctor?” At that moment I could have sworn to have seen the most contemptible of smiles upon his grossly encrusted lips. As a therapist, I was to open myself up in some type of situation that may forebode a breakthrough of some sort.

“She’s no longer with us. She died in a horrible accident I’m afraid.” An eerie sense of nothingness filled the stale air that surrounded our antithetical cadavers. Seconds passed, just as minutes while something akin to a child’s staring contest waged between us both, as if to see who was the better man. However, silence never does last forever. “How did she die, doctor?”

I proceeded with nothing but a period of which to decide what my boundary of words were. Yet, after much digressing, I found myself in a position, a rather uncomfortable one mind you, to speak once more of my wife’s passing. “An accident, a terrible accident while driving.” I heard a disgustingly rotten chuckle come from the deepest depths of his baritone voice release itself in the most abhorrent of manner. Common sense began crumbling with extreme speed within the mixture of my mind’s ferocious instinct towards the man, yet I somehow kept calm during the experiment the man so desperately tried to conjure towards my downfall of sanity in the exact moment we sat in. I listened closely to his next words, ones in which I shall never forget.

“We’re quite alike, you and I; aren’t we?”

“No,” I claimed calmly. “We completely contradict. Now please, may we move onto the reason we’re both here?”

“What would that reason be doctor?” He knew why he was here.

“We’re here to speak of you.”

“Do you know what’s funny doctor?” He’d ignored all my words and instead pondered his own thoughts through myself once more. I shut my mouth and shaded my vocality with a brand of silence as he simply sat there, a faint smile procured upon his lips. Soon enough, he began to speak once more. “On the day I killed my beloved, there was a horrible accident, just as the one you proclaim as the demise of yours.” He’d suddenly piqued my interest to the point of no return. “What does this have to do with anything?” He did not answer, instead he found a route to respond with once more an inquiry. “Do you know what kind of car crash your fair maiden partook in?” I thought a moment, racking my brain for a memory I’d held so dear to my heart all this time, yet for some reason was lost to me now.

Without warning, a mirror of memory led me to the most somber of moments in my life. The phone, it had rung that day, rung like it never did before. It rung louder, filled with a ferocity and excruciatingly belligerent noise that I’d never heard from the thing before. My ears felt attuned to nothing more but a cryptic message of sorrowful indulgence before I even answered the call. I hesitated, knowing something was terribly wrong already. I finally resolved my fear of the inevitable and picked up the phone. A shiver ran down the aching spine of mine as the voice on the other end of the phone explained what happened the night before, or, at least, as much as he could.

“It was on purpose, wasn’t it doctor?” My eyes widened and my expression became nothing more than maddened beyond repair. I remembered. It was no accident, someone, not intoxicated in any way, had taken the greatest gift any man could ever yearn. They told me… They didn’t know who had caused such a tremendous calamity of which did destroy the entirety of my life. They came to my house, the investigators, the police, the reporters. I walked out onto the porch, my hands still trembling, my knees crumbling beneath me. The world was frozen, the air distilled in a mist of trepidation as I was asked to walk down. Tears rolled down my rough cheeks, creating a pungent stench of salty water around my nostrils. I fell to my knees, seeing no point in moving further. My life was over… Death seemed to be the only option. Yet, I was stopped, dismay only furthered by the shackles chained upon me by will of mind.

They asked me of things I knew must be inquired, but I still despised and cringed at every word that rang through my ears. One was true in the simplest of means. Violent behavior through physicality was but the only of which questions could be answered with a yes. Only once had we fought, a time in which I shall always hold dear in my heart with extreme hatred.

“I hit her,” I softly whimpered, unable to hold back. “Right before she left me in her car, I hit her.” I placed my hand in my palms, sobbing for my own self pity. Almost as if to take nourishment from my sorrowful woes, the man across from me snickered under his breath. “You wanna know how I killed a few of my victims?” I did not contend so much as take conjourn for his breathless words; but he continued without hesitation.

“Well, for one of ‘em, I took an axe, real heavy one, hurt my back in fact, and gave her a nice whack. Heh, I needed some new paint anyways. Did the same thing to her husband, sick bastard wanted a piece of the woman, I couldn’t have that. She was all mine. The last one, well, she got away, had to chase after her.” My mind discontinued the train of thought it so desperately clung to. “Was her own fault, she did come for a wild night. Said somethin’ about how her husband’s an ass. Even if she was all mine, I couldn’t have her bein’ such a hypocrite, talkin’ about her husband like that behind his back. She was the cheater after all.

“Woke up the next morning, cops at my doorstep. Not a huge surprise, was plenty of room for ‘em in the driveway after all, with the lady’s car gone along with mine. Worse part about that day I’d say was wakin’ up with such terrible back pains. Damn axe was real heavy doc.” I couldn’t think. My breath was frozen in the distilled air as my tongue wallowed in an isolated brand of reticence. He killed her, I knew he did. What were I to assert in such a moment of solemn misunderstanding and cryptic realization of whom had not told me? My throat knotted itself into an impeccable genus of instability, as it tightened with every stretch and pull of my neck as I continued to rue my own philosophical incorrect position in physicality. Yet, with a gulp and a croak came the least of words in which I had hoped to claim. “You killed her.” I said, weakly holding intact the remaining fragments of my common sense.

“Never said that doc.” I heard him next move away from the chair in which he had sat, the creaking of the old wood completely uncharacteristic of the concrete walls and marble made floors. The skin upon his feet created a surreal slapping sound with every step he took. Raising my tear-ridden face from my moist palms, I watched him slowly walk to the back of the room, where visibility was low enough for me to see his apparition, but nothing more. Suddenly, the sound of his accursed footsteps fell into deep admiration of the quietness I so desired in my mind. This, though, the boisterousness, was only to be reconciled by none other than his callused fists, which he banged cruely against the wall furthest from I. “Fuckin’ hate this god damned ‘facility’ as they call it, and now they put me in here to talk to this lunatic?” He proclaimed, as if I were the one slipping out of sanity.

I heard his hits become harder and harder, until the point of simply unbearable crackling sounds, like bones being crushed under immense pressure. I let all that had been revealed to me in such a short period of time sink in, but I simply could not, it was all too much. My paralysis subsided as I finally realized what exactly had just happened. I looked at his vague shadow, pounding against the wall, as if he thought there was some sort of escape through that way. My rage began to consume the very course of my soul. “Hey, stop that!” No response came back. I stood up from my chair, hammering my fists into the desk. “I said stop you ignorant buffoon!” Consternation was of the least when no surmount of conceivable noises were heard coming from his lips.

I began my stomping raid towards him, my knuckles growing white in desperation of proper blood flow. I clasped his shoulder, trying to pull him back, yet he was like a brick wall and wouldn’t move. I bellowed once more my falsely fearsome warning, yet his abhorrent groans for words had stopped it seemed, and the only sound to be heard was the demeanor of his bones’ grotesque new architectural design taking form. What I did next, I must say was rather unusual of any man. I took hold of his thick head, my thumbs at the back of his skull, my other fingers gouging into his eye sockets tightly. My arms weighed his head backwards at first, tearing his face away from the wall. He did not scream, nor make any noise at all it seemed as I dug my nails into his eyes. Hoping to find some sort of regret for what the disgusting piece of trash had done, I found none, and threw his head forwards into the wall.

His skull, or, just the wall perhaps, had cracked, but something had at that moment; for there was a loud, crashing sound of something brittle, yet hard in base, with a hint of a silhouette of something softer, perhaps squishier, being crammed up against the wall. I pulled back once more, still no sounds to be made except for my heavy breathing and pounding blood. As I shoved his face forwards once more, I proclaimed something that, at that point in time, seemingly made very little sense in consideration of my situation. “Cheater!” I yelled as I threw his head in once more. I took him for another spin. “Don’t leave!” Again. “You’re mine!” Again. “You’re all mine!” Again. “Cheater!” Crack, crack, crack, it went. Once more. “I know you killed her!” Again, again, again, again, again, again. “I know you killed her, I know you killed her, I know you killed her, I know you killed her, I know you killed her, I know I killed her!” Suddenly, to my abrupt surprise, the walls surrounding me shattered and disintegrated into nothingness just as I slammed his head into the wall one last time, almost as if my strength had broken the room’s barriers.

A white light the brightness of nothing less than the sun itself surrounded me as I fell to the hard marble floor below. Something inside me broke, perhaps internally physical, maybe psychologically, but I found myself disabled in movement. I winced in pain as I curled myself in a ball as the light subsided and the inane buzzing sound of flying bugs could be heard in belligerence. I cradled myself in a comforting fetal position on the ground, the flickering light above me showcasing the buzzing flies circling around on object next to me. I looked down, to see a body, lifeless and pale, bled out on the floor. He wore a lab coat, one such as a doctor may wear. His face was clean, no wrinkles or the such to be found on his face. It was as if he were a complete clone of myself, or, who I thought to be myself.

My eyes followed the trail of red bodily fluids flowing from the man’s body, and soon I had realized I was wallowing myself in a cold puddle of red liquids that did not belong to I. The blood soaked my long, greasy hair and dyed it a deep red, flooded the crevasses of my large wrinkles, and created a rotten bath for my teeth. I began to sob, somewhat paralyzed by my experience. I grabbed my knees and drew them up to my chest. I cried and whimpered without thought as I mumbled out groans of, “I know you killed her,” over and over, like a record with no end.

At that moment, I had found myself in a puddle of bloody red signals.

My life… Is an enigma.

Author's NoteEdit

So, this a prequel thingy for the recreation of My Life is an Enigma. Hope it was good. If you have any questions you want to ask about the ending or need any resolution as to what occurred, please ask in the comments. I'll try and explain as much as I can here. So, here's what basically happened.

So, there's a doctor, or, therapist rather (same thing), who works at this "facility" as it's called in the story. A man walks into the room, there to see said doctor about who he's killed and what he's done. However, this ends up going the other way around and after some discussing, the doctor finds out that the man he's speaking to has killed his wife, along with two other people. This is not the case though, for as the doctor continues having this conversation with the man about the killings and what not, he comes to a certain realization that the doctor himself is the killer, but he's not the doctor, he's essentially the man the "doctor" is talking to. 

Here, let me try and put it as simply as I can. There is a man with two separate personalities and is ill in mentality. Now, this man killed three people, and gets locked up in some type of psych-ward due to mental illness. He would go to see this doctor about what he's done and who he's killed. So, when he goes into this certain paralysis kind of state, he recognizes his good self with the doctor he would go to speak with, and his bad self with how he usually acts; that is why he talks about the doctor at the end who was bled out on the floor. He killed the doctor he spoke to often because of his illness and when he did this he, as I said before, goes into this paralysis state where he comes up with this absurd situation where he basically came to terms with what he's done all over again. 

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