Chapter 2: The Price We Pay
As I walk outside Dr. Beaman explains to me what post-symbiotic trauma is like. As we pass a garden leading to a small creek we both see Eric Flatt sitting on a bench. His face is expressionless, as he continues to watch the water flow downstream. As I sit next to him he glances over at me and continues looking at the creek.
I really wish I could tell you more. I have been saying that for nearly one year now. I can't remember a damn thing. So, I'll tell you what I tell everyone else. I remember waking up face down in the middle of a street. It was quite, very quite. The streets were littered with cars and broken glass and debris. I remember slowly being able to stand. I wasn't alone others were there trying to stand too, but no one was saying anything. I remember trying to remember anything, but nothing came to my head. These doctors started to analyze me. I hope they can begin to help us. Then again some days I think no one can help us.
Help you with what?
Help me find me. You know that thing that makes you, you, that one essential piece of all of humanity that no one else has but yourself. The thing that defines you. It was taken from me. I don't remember who I am. I mean sure I know how walk, how to talk, and read. But if you ask me my name or who I am I couldn't answer you confidently. All I have are pictures in a wallet and names on sheets of paper. That's what that thing did it stole my identity. Christ I can't even remember my OWN family. Shortly after this whole thing happened I looked my self up in an address book and went to my home except I didn't recognize a Goddamn thing. (Eric begins to raise his voice and his arms start to tremble) You know what I can't remember. I…I...I don't know how to hold my own child. How to love my wife, because I look at her I don't see or feel anything. I spent the next few weeks living with these strangers that are my family. I tried to remember, but days went on and nothing clicked. One morning I woke up and my wife had gone exercising at the gym. I began searching again, trying to find anything that would help me remember. Then I came across my wife's diary. As I read I was amazed at how much of a gentleman I used to be to her. She wrote of many romantic evenings we spent together. She would write about me everyday. Then I began to look at her recent entries, and you know what cuts me deepest? She doesn't recognize me. She wrote in her diary that the man she loved is gone, and that every time she kisses me it seems that I somehow feel empty. My daughter and I would play with her dolls and she would tell me to give her our secret little kiss or to call her by the nickname I gave her and all I could do is sit there and cry as she kept asking and waiting on me to call her by her nickname. I can handle not knowing myself okay, but when it arrives to a point where my inability to have compassion for the people I cared about most and to see them wallow with me, then it has gone too far. So I did the only descent thing I could. I left them; maybe they will be better off. Everything, I've lost it all. All to that damn symbiote, you see when it died that part of me died with it. Now I wish it had taken the rest of me along with it. Here take this; I have no use for it anymore.
I turn and head back towards Dr. Beaman who seems to be studying his notes on his clipboard.
"Well that is one side of the spectrum it seems to be a manic depression obviously induced by their exposure to the symbiote. The other outcome is a bit more aggressive."
Justin Reaves's hands are bound as he takes his seat in the chair and faces the one-sided mirror where I begin to ask him about his experience with the symbiote.
What?! Have you found my other? You speak of the symbiote. WHERE IS OUR OTHER? (Mr. Reaves cranes his head from side to side as if looking for something.) You cannot keep me here. I need to find the symbiote! It had given me everything and you took it from us! You will all die! I will dine with your brains before my time is up!
Where is it! Where have you taken our other!
(Without warning Mr. Reaves stands to his feet and begins yelling and screaming incomprehensible jargon. He slams his fists into the mirror trying to break his way through and we both flinch at each impact. The first layer of glass begins to crack as we both take a step back. Now Mr. Reaves's fists are splintered with broken glass. To my shock he does not stop but continues to break through the glass with his head effectively splintering his face with fragments of glass as well. He simply ignores the pain because he is so consumed with his anger. Before any further damage could be done several security guards enter the room and subdue him.)
As I leave the compound Dr. Beaman apologizes for the scare and then Eric approaches me and hands me his wallet telling me he has no more use for it. I gather my things and start to leave. As I walk towards my car I turn around to see a tear fall from Eric's face. Inside the car I look at the photos of Eric and his family, they were happy. I conclude that no matter whom or where you were during this conflict all have been affected and all of us have lost.
A/N: Just added this piece to illustrate the choas that must have been created after the invasion had been stopped. not really a point of view, but it helps to create a scene of what these people had gone through. this will help out in the later chapters. sorry it took so long. please review