He snapped awake.
ochre leaves scattered across the floor rustled as he struggled to lift himself up. Birch trees around him prostrated themselves like monuments surrounding a summoning circle, unnervingly equivalent to each other. The air was filled with the slight hum of the approaching winds and the noon sunlight shined in beams of radiant yellow.
They...wronged...me...?
He slowly lifted his arms to rub away the fog from his eyes and stared around the area, then at his body.
A bone-deep shiver pulsed down his body as the serenity of the forest ceased
His entire arm was tainted in a desaturated blue infection, eating away at his limbs like a corrosive mold. Half of his hand was flayed, the exposed tendon still red with life and reeking blood through every movement. He looked at every other limb, exactly the same.
He screamed and screamed until he couldn't scream any longer. Questions toppled him more than the absolute disgust his body emanated. He wanted to severe all his limbs, rip himself apart. He longed to vomit but had no bile to do so.
What is wrong with me?! Why is this happening?!
But there was no pain, not a single sting or ache across his flayed skin or possibly shattered bones. The only pain was the questions.
The questions started swarming through every cell of his body, every time he tried to get through to the answer, the gaping ravine of cluelessness expanded. The thought was like an itch, one that made him want to claw his skin off. He started running through the woods, for no apparent reason at all. There was nothing he could do but run.
Maybe I can find the answer if I run.
Just keep running.
He stormed through every crevice in the forest, hoping for something, anything, that would tell him about himself. The more he clawed his skin, the more the itch grew and grew
What he is.
What he is.
Where he is.
Why is he.
Why.
His mind couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. The man kept thinking and thinking about what he is, but still nothing, he still couldn't recall a single memory in his empty skull. Even if he'd thought of something familiar, it was too hazy to identify.
No. he needed to find out. He had to.
The man kept running. His legs were exhausted and crumbling to the brain of his limits, his lungs were tired of breathing. His heart raced through his body. His rasping breath stabbed him in burns. The same exact question echoed through him, but the more he thought harder the more he deprived his sanity. His head ached like hell. The scrambled jigsaw pieces of who he is had no possible way to decode. The man couldn't end the desire to know. His head was splitting apart, every time he thought, another crack formed in his mind. The once bright orange sky has now become a dark hazy blue. It was almost nighttime.
No.
I can't stay here.
I need to leave.
Something told the man he needed to leave, the feeling was dead serious, Yet he couldn't put his finger on it. He immediately started storming out of the grove, Through every arching branch and tree. His heart beat faster and faster, he could barely catch enough air, but he couldn't stop running. The ground shook with tremors. The man still bolted as fast as he could, with no question of why at all. He wouldn't focus on who he is anymore, the itch was swept aside. The only desire he needed was to leave.