A/N: This one shot is weird. Really weird! It only makes sense if you read it all the way to the end. Enjoy.
Still own nothing.
Title: Where is my mind?
Rating: K+
Inspiration: "Where is my mind" from the "Suckerpunch" soundtrack
Genre: Thriller
Where is my mind?
"Where is my mind?"
He thinks quietly to himself.
"Where is my mind?"
He tries to ask out loud, but there is no reply.
And how can there be? For as long as he can see, there is no one there.
"Where is it?"
He begins to feel fear.
It's not usually like this. It took a few years, but with a lot of self discipline and more luck than brains, he was able to avoid this.
The lost
And yet, here he stands, sits, lies, he's not sure yet, completely lost inside something much bigger than himself.
So he absorbs his surroundings, as calmly as he can.
Nothing
He wants something solid, some boundaries, so he makes a tree.
It's shaky and a bit see-through, like a mirage, about to disappear.
He sits under the tree, knees tucked to his stomach.
The tree is already disappearing into nothing.
He wants to make something else, anything so he won't feel afraid.
He makes a mask.
A scary mask, instead of his face.
Now he is a monster.
Monsters don't fear monsters
"Where is my mind?"
He screams to the nothing with his new monster voice.
He stands up and looks at his hands.
They're not there.
"Good" he thinks, but he can't explain why.
He starts walking a few steps before noticing something is wrong.
He can't see his legs.
"Good" he thinks, but he can't explain why.
He walks again, ignoring the sick sensation of not feeling your legs.
He stops abruptly when he hears a familiar voice.
"I have your mind"
The voice calls
"I have your mind and I am never giving it back"
The voice laughs.
Charles wakes up in an odd angle.
Cold sweat drips down his forehead, his chest rises and falls with every shallow breath he takes.
He wipes his brow, mashing away brown curls and looks at his hands. They are very much visible, all ten digits.
He chuckles to himself.
A dream. A twisted way for the brain to deal with the troubles of conciseness.
Just a dream.
Maneuvering himself into his prison chair to get a glass of water, perhaps scotch instead, Charles can't help but wonder.
Was it his dream?
"Where is my mind?"
Fin
A/N: this was written after the beach fiasco. So, whose dream do you think it was? I'll give you a hint: It's not Erik. Next one shot will be about the dreamer… does this count as a cliffhanger? I decided not to do that to my readers… I'm babbling… oh well.