"He was a strange creature, but nothing far from being a human just like me. Had he been larger, or if he had skin instead of fur, he would have blended in with everyone else, though his unnatural appearance is what fascinated me and exempt him from being typically insipid like all the rest. He had a lively aura about him, and though his appearance was alien to me and others, the amicable atmosphere he carried with him was what made him so distinct and interesting. His name was L...Lucia—no! That's a girl's name ... Lu...Lu-something. I can't remember. I can remember everything else so vividly, but I guess, what do names matter?"
Historical log, 1998. Interviews orchestrated by J. Saint John. Please note that that following dialogue was taken from audio tapes one year ago. The actions shown in bold may be inaccurate, as they were taken only from memory.
Kyserike (Kai-zer-rick-ee) O'Ferrel was born in 1979 and hails from the eastern coast of Ireland. Not much is known about O'Ferrel; he's especially not open about his earlier years, claiming he cannot remember them. He is the son of his very well-known father (now deceased) who was drafted into the war against his will, and a British mother (now deceased) who was also a conscientious objector. Naturally a pacifist much like his parents, O'Ferrel surprised the nation when he brutally massacred six Americans. He pleaded that he was insane, and so he lives here in Hellingly Asylum (IHA), Colorado, USA.
My psychologists told me that all my memories originated from a dream, as in they weren't real. I've forgotten everything that happened to me from when I was born to when I overdosed, so they tell me that I'm confusing my dreams with real life. I denied all that they said. I lived for seventeen years on an illusory plane of existence, fifteen of which consisted of false memories that I never actually experienced. Then I woke up two years after I fell asleep. Everything I knew, everyone I met, even my own being, it all came from that dream. I was living a good life, and what happened when I woke up? I lost everything. I had to start all over as someone who I didn't want to be, in a world I didn't want to live in. Sometimes I just wish I could fall asleep again and stay that way forever. Maybe "sometimes" is an understatement.
[He shifts uncomfortably on his bed and reaches for a picture frame on his bedside. He hands it to me. The picture is hued in sepia and portrays a young man in a gown adorned with badges. He's grinning and saluting the camera.]
This is my father. He was an amazing guy, truly brilliant. He was a pilot, administering anaesthetics and the like to marines in need. He got the job done, and he was very talented. Because he owned his own plane, he could travel wherever, when he wasn't needed. In England he met my mother. Right when she conceived me, my father's plane crashed. He never knew he had impregnated my mother. My father died before I was born. In my dream, I had subconsciously fabricated the man in that picture who I perceived as my father, even though this man was only a few years older than me, as funny as it sounds. I remember going to Rose & Joes with him in the city, getting pizza and baked goods, then going to Laguli's, then to the park. I was raised by him, and I had grown more attracted to him than to my mother. These memories are so, so vivid. I feel like I was there only yesterday, on the blue-painted metal of the playground, Italian ice in hand, standing abreast of my father and gazing at the city. Only yesterday. But there's no point reminiscing about things that never happened. It was nice because I got to know my father in my dream, but unfortunately he passed after a year or so. Then both of my fathers were dead.
So, in my dream, I lived in a little house that was built on stilts and had been annexed onto the side of a railroad, also on stilts. After a year of dreaming, I turned seventeen, and around that time was when I experience it. The railroad put my life into true peril. My mum was on a business trip and my father had died recently, and I was alone in my house on stilts. Well, I was on the porch overlooking the stone steps down to the ground. I heard the all too familiar repetition of heavy clunking. A train was coming. Awfully fast, light speed. I walked along the boardwalk towards the tracks because I was curious as to why this train was pushing it so unusually fast. I could feel the unnatural vibrations. Suddenly, the rails belched and shifted quite a ways towards me, like they were no longer attached to the wooden platform. That's when I saw him: some silhouetted figure on the other side of the railway. It was dusk, so I could only make out its human-like form and a pair of pointy ears jutting upwards. I didn't have the time to question it. Other things were on my mind, like the train. Once the train reached the start of the bend, I knew something was wrong, and that's when its wheels somehow broke free from the rails and it was projected towards my house with enough inertia to explode through walls of lead. I watched as the train shattered my house and sent splinter cells—no, splinters the size of bathtubs in my direction. At that point, if the projectiles didn't kill me, the collapse of the stilts would. It was hopeless.
But then I remember being seized from behind and practically pushed off the boardwalk. Whatever had got me, it still had its arms wrapped around me. When we reached the grass below, I didn't die, neither did my captor. Instead, we propelled forward at, like, forty miles an hour, my body dangling in this thing's arms like a rag doll. Typically, I passed out. [He stalls, looking uneasy. His hair droops over his forehead, and there's this unnerving glint in his eyes. Several gowned women enter the room, apologize to me, and begin easing him with various sedatives. I decide to continue the interview another time.]
According to Kyserike's medical logs, he had been in a drug-induced coma for nearly two years. From what he said so far, it sounded like he had gotten some very serious amnesia during the coma, and could no longer remember anything from before he underwent the coma. As unbelievable as it sounds, the human mind is extremely intricate and perfectly capable of doing things like this. But there were still so many questions I had, mostly pertaining to this silhouette in Kyserike's dream.
I left Kyserike a note and made a new plan with the office, hoping to return soon to finish the interview. In the mean time, I decided to seek out Kyserike's biological brother, whom Kyserike had no idea existed. The brother, Thomas O'Ferrel, fortunately lived close by in a relatively normal household. I knocked on his door and was soon after answered by Thomas himself. He lived alone and was more than glad to let me interview him, despite my unannounced arrival.
a/n:New story. Like some of my other stories, this story has already been entirely finished. The remaining chapters are locked away in a safe. I pre-wrote this so I don't get discouraged somehow and quit after posting ch1. Because chances are, I will be discouraged from continuing. Chapters will be posted whenever, you know. Bye
