Dearest Insanity 2

       The boy sat upright on his bed again, for the third time that night. He couldn't sleep, it seemed, he had too much on his mind. Sighing quietly, he maneuvered his feet so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his hands propping his head up.

       After the woman had come to "assess" him, nurses had moved him from his padded white cell to a grey and blue cell. There were no pads on these walls, or on the floor, which, he thought, made it easier to walk on. The floor was cold and spotted with little black dots among the grey tile. He had a small bed with a thin blanket and a thin pillow to sleep on. A small desk sat in the corner of the room, as well as a wooden chair in front of it. He liked this better than the pure white room he was in before, it seemed less...light. He liked it.

       "Wait..." He thought to himself, "I like dark things?" He smiled for a second, but it quickly disappeared. He didn't remember what he liked or disliked. This was something he...felt. It felt right to him. Scoffing before resting the palm of his hand on his forehead, he sighed deeply.

       "It feels right? You can't base something like that on feeling."

       The boy sighed again, before letting his body fall back onto the bed, spreading his arms out and stretching the light tug of sleep away. He thought it over again, trying to remember even the slightest thing about himself. Nothing. Not one memory, not one sound or sight he remembered that was important to his real self. If anything he felt like a empty shell.

       "Well, I need a name don't I?" He quietly whispered into the night air. He thought it over. "What name could I give myself...that makes me feel like...me? Hell, I don't even know if I'll "Like it" or not. I don't know who I am. What if I'm some crazy psychotic murderer? What if I'm some poor clerk at a gas station who has to smell gasoline all day because the pumps weren't working right?" He laughed to himself, knowing at least he had some humor in him.

       "Arron. Yeah, that sounds nice...familiar." He spoke aloud, relishing how the word felt when it rolled over his tongue. This was it, he would call himself Arron from now on. He lightly punched the air before smiling lightly. "You're Arron, and you'll be whoever you want to be."

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       "Arron?" The woman said, setting the clipboard onto her leg before adjusting her hair so it was out of her face.

       "Yeah, Arron. That's what I'm calling myself from now on. Sounds better than a number doesn't it?" He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he was going to win this one. The woman looked at him with her cold eyes before sighing.

       "If that's what you wish. Arron it is." She wrote the name down on the clipboard before clicking the pen into its spot on the piece of metal.

       "Do you remember anything? A memory, the reason you're here? A favorite color perhaps?" Arron thought deeply to himself, coming up with nothing except the same old blanks he can't fill.

       "No. Nothing. Same as usual."

       The woman sighed before flipping the clipboard over, looking at Arron with focused eyes. He looked away from them, feeling as if she might just stare holes into him if he let her.

       "It looks like you have a long-term case of amnesia. We can't do much for you here. But, there is something I could pull some strings for." Her gaze never leaving Arron, she continued on.

       "In most cases we would send a patient with amnesia to a hospital, but a hospital won't help you, especially when we need the information that's locked itself away in your brain. There is a treatment that we do with patients like you. We send them to one of the smaller houses, there they will live like a normal person, going to school, meeting friends and family if they have any, and even doing chores like any other teenager would do."

       Arron nodded his head slightly, thinking why he would be going to school if he could have already graduated.

       "I have a house in mind for you, and we'll send you there tomorrow. Since you were brought here without any personal belongings or, any identification telling us who you are, You'll assume the name of the woman taking care of you. She will report to us on how you've been doing and if you begin to remember anything, and if you do start to remember anything, sessions will begin to see if we can bring your old memories back."

       Arron scoffed inside of his head. "Sessions? Out of all things why did I get sessions?"
The woman began to shift around, gathering her clipboard into her hands and standing up from the wooden chair by the desk.

       Turning around before leaving the room, she cocked her head so she could just barely looking into Arron's eyes again.

       "At noon tomorrow, we'll begin the transport process."

       As soon as she left the room, Arron let out a long sigh. He was going to hate this, and he knew it with whatever part of his brain was still working for him.