The last 24 hours have been a mashup of moments, fractions of seconds, that when pieced together make no sense at all.
I remember the man from the white room, the imposter, the book, the shadow, and, the little girl screaming, terrified and, and a woman, Clare?
The rest seems like poorly sown together images, distorted through eyes not mine, eyes weary from a full night worth of drinking, a throat and lungs stained and burnt with the smoke from a packet or more of cigarettes. But yet, I have no recognition of any of these things, just the after tastes, just the aches and pains.
What happened to me last night?
It was then I noticed the folder the strange man from the white room had left me somehow ended up spread across the lounge room, pages from it were torn in peices, others brunt, I needed to know what happened, what drove me to destroy something that the man said would help me. Whatever good it would do me now, was little to nothing, that’s when I noticed the folder still had something in it, when I opened the folder I found the story still complete. It was then that I noticed in the mess spread around that there were multiple copies of pages, I realized this last night I’d tried to destroy the book, only to find it replenished itself back in the folder.
What madness is going on, and how in the fucking hell do I escape it?