Something Is Not Right Here | A Story

    Do you ever get that feeling, a feeling that can only be described as a nagging itch in the back of your mind. The unsettling kind of feeling that keeps you up at night staring upwards into the vacant darkness of your room. That feeling when you wake in the morning and you know something is different. A seed has been planted: A question. An ungodly pestilence...unsettling doubt. I feel that feeling now. Pouring my freshly brewed caffeinated elixir into my usual mug I stare out the window overlooking the lawn leading to the entry of my house. The sun rises with the beginning of the day. The world is glowing in a yellow light. "Something isn't right here," I mumble to myself. 

    Feeling heat over my hand I look down to see I have overfilled my morning mug and stare with empty eyes. I watch as my coffee floods the counter top, trickling to the floor. I step back, gather the mug in both hands, and dump its contents into the sink. "Right. Work."

    I mutter irritatedly to myself as I find myself staring out the kitchen window yet again. The day was off. The morning was off. I never spill coffee. Too important in the morning. I'm not wasteful. Why would I waste it?  Something wasn't right here. "Call in sick" I hear myself say. I shake my head "No" but in my heart I knew the decision was already made.

    Fumbling for my phone I open up my contacts, and finding my boss "Andrew" I begin to draft my excuse. "Good morning I woke up feeling unwell…." I hurriedly tap the backspace key removing the typed sentence and begin anew. "I will be unable to make it to the office today. Bad case of the flu. I apologise for the inconvenience." And before I can change my mind I tap "send." Almost immediately my phone chimes with the indication of a reply. Surprised, I open the conversation and read Andrew's message. "You haven't called in once in almost five years, are you doing alright?" Surprised by this reaction I type back "yes, just need the day I'm sure." My phone chimes immediately yet again and I observe Andrew’s reply this time I stare in silent shock. I drop the phone to the floor, abandoning it there I step back. The reply was simple yet confirming. It simply read, "Something is not right here."

    The day drags on, uneventful yet not relaxing. A looming sense of unease, doubt … and ignorance clouds my mind. What is it? What is the question I should be asking? Should I be fearful? Should I be searching, and if I was to search, then for what should I be searching? I sit on the floor. Alone with these terrifying thoughts. Whispering over and over to myself "Something is not right here." The light streams into the room dimmed with the dying of the day and yet I continue to beg this pestering statement for an answer, any answer that would ease my thirst. My hunger. My mind...no my soul feels vacant and empty. I feel nothing, yet desire everything. Exhaustion overtakes my body even though my mind lies awake. With sleep comes no relaxation. My mind screams the phrase at me continuously again and again, causing me grief as I toss and turn. The night continues on relentlessly. Then, as I feel my mind begin to seemingly collapse from exhaustion, I hear it. Or rather I feel it. A voice in my head whispering my name, beckoning me to get up. To find the source. To find it. "Find me," it whispers. I leapt from the comfort of my bed almost involuntarily and as if I was being guided, and wander out into the hall where I  find myself reaching for the door. As I push the door open I feel the cool of the night rush over me startling me fully awake. Or was this yet a dream?

    "Something is not right here," I mutter to myself again as I step out into the dark. Feet bare, making barely a sound on the turf. I walk across the lawn moving toward the back of the house. The darkness surrounds me but I know where I should be headed. Rounding the corner of the house a figure looms in the shadow, tall and unmoving. This should terrify me to my core, but instead I feel compelled to approach. I step closer, my mind begging to know, to understand, to gain…perspective. No, not just perspective, but knowledge. 

    "Hello" the voice muttered from the shadows. The voice was not a whisper, but instead low and guttural. I pause, and stare at the individual. My feet grow numb from the damp and cold midnight grass.

    "It is our instinct to know more. To learn. We crave knowledge from the day we are born until the day our world reclaims what it had originally created. Sometimes we ask questions. And sometimes we experience a thought. One little, seemingly inconspicuous thought that on the surface appears to hold no meaning to our lives whatsoever. Yet that thought could very well be the key to our entire existence. This little pestering thought is why I am here with you now."

    The figure emerges from the shadows, and reveals himself. His form is slender and no taller than myself. I expected to look into a pair of eyes appearing to hold knowledge and wisdom, but as the figure steps toward me I can see the strap of cloth bound tightly about his head fully covering his eyes. Oozing from behind the cloth, blood slowly falls down his face. He holds his hands outward as if to guide the few steps he takes.

"And why are you here?" I question.

"To present to you a choice," he answers bluntly.

"A choice?"

"Knowledge is power in this world. We crave it. And yet we simultaneously seek to be willfully ignorant which in turn grants us the illusion of power. So I present to you this." The man holds forth his two hands, shaking and unsteady. He opens his right hand to reveal two eyes seemingly plucked from his very skull. Blood covers his palm and drips to the grass below. Startled and disgusted I stumble back choking as I feel my own vomit begin to make the ascent up my throat.

    Without pause the man extends his other hand, opening it to reveal naught. I stare as he shakes his right hand. The eyes roll towards me and stare into my very soul. The voice grates again: "Choice one. Accept the tool to observe and see the world for what it truly is, granting yourself knowledge and truth. After all knowledge is power." He smiles blindly at the mantra, and pauses to lick the blood from his lips.

"Choice two." He turns his head in the direction of his left hand and opens to again reveal his empty palm. "Accept that there is a truth you will never know, and I will remove your desire to answer that which has given you unrest. In return I will gift you willful ignorance, an illusion of power as you go on to live a full and perhaps pleasurable life." 

    I stare down at his two open hands. Contemplating both options. My desire for truth is immeasurable, as is my desire for knowledge...for power. "I know one thing now I did not know before this moment." I say, looking the man in his blood smeared face. 

"And what, pray tell, is this one thing?" The man inquires.

"That pestering statement that has given me no rest is true. Something is not right here: Something is not right with this world, my world."

    The man remains silent as if he is awaiting my judgment on his proposal. "You have been presented with two options and only two, you must choose. I compel you to choose." 

"And who says that I must choose? You and your truth?" I ask.

"My truth? Truth is truth, this is a constant which does not vary."

"Truth is subjective. And with knowledge comes the ability to create for ourselves our own truth." I reach down silently, and watch as the man withdraws his hands. I fumble around my feet until the rough surface of a rock connects with my finger tips.

"You must choose!" He repeats emphatically.

"As you said," I say as I stand to my feet extending myself to full height. "With knowledge comes power and with knowledge I gain the ability to create my own truth. And your truth will die with you."

    I lunge towards him. He does nothing but stand motionless as my shoulder connects with his chest, knocking him backwards to the grass. His body collapses as I stumble atop him connecting the boulder with his face violently. Blood spatters my face and I can taste it upon my tongue, bitter and sweet. I raise the boulder high, arms extended over my head, and let the weight plunge it downward against his skull. This time I hear a crack as his bone shatters. "Something is not right here!" I scream. I raise the boulder again. His face is collapsed and grotesque. Blood soaks the soil beneath him. "You are not right here!" I feel the boulder connect with what used to be his face again. Blood spews into the air.

    My truth will live on. I do not need to know what is truth if I have already chosen to believe my own.