Chapter 5
1199words
When I woke up this morning, I found that I couldn't remember anything about what I did yesterday.
Not the ordinary kind of "can't quite recall," but a complete blank, as if the entire day yesterday had been completely erased from my life.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trying hard to recall any fragment of yesterday, but there was only a thick fog in my mind.
What did I eat? What did I do? What did I say? Who did I meet? I have absolutely no impression.
What's more frightening is that these memory blanks are becoming more and more frequent, and in larger chunks.
I opened my diary to see if I had recorded anything yesterday, but the page for March 27 was blank.
This is strange, because lately I've been writing in my diary every day; it has become a habit.
Why didn't I write yesterday? Or did I write but forgot about it? Or did someone tear out that page?
I checked the binding of the diary and found no signs of a torn page.
That page was indeed still there, but nothing was written on it.
"Michael, are you up?" a woman's voice came from the living room, "Breakfast is ready."
I walked to the living room and found a carefully prepared breakfast on the table: rice porridge, pickled vegetables, boiled eggs, and a small dish of fermented tofu with water spinach that I never eat.
"I don't eat fermented tofu with water spinach," I said after sitting down. "What?" the woman looked at me confused, "That's one of your favorite dishes. You even praised me for how delicious it was yesterday."
I praised it yesterday? I have no recollection of that at all.
"I might be remembering wrong," I forced a smile.
There was a kind of worry in their eyes that I hadn't noticed before—not ordinary concern, but a deeper unease, like they were worried about something that was about to happen.
"Would you like to go out for a walk today?" the woman suggested, "Staying at home too long isn't good for recovery."
"I'd like to rest a bit more." They exchanged another glance, and that worried expression became even more obvious.
"Then take your medicine on time, we're going out to buy some things." The man said, while taking out a box of eszopiclone tablets from his pocket, "Remember, twice a day, two tablets each time, don't take less."
The minute hand of the clock kept going around in circles. Looking at those white pills, I suddenly felt a strong sense of resistance welling up inside me. Perhaps these medications were causing my memory problems?
"Alright." I agreed on the surface, but I had already made up my mind.
After they left in the morning, I spat out the pills I had pretended to swallow and hid them in a book.
If my memory problems were truly related to these medications, then stopping them should make my mind clearer.
In the afternoon, I began to carefully search the entire room, looking for any possible escape routes and useful information.
In an inconspicuous picture frame in the living room, I discovered another photo that shocked me.
This photo was clearer than the one I had seen in the photo album earlier, and more disturbing.
There are two of me in the photo, standing in this living room, but strangely, the shadows of the two people overlap, casting only one shadow.
But how is this possible? Even twins couldn't appear in the same place at the same time.
Unless... unless these aren't two different people at all, but rather the same person manifesting in different states?
A chill runs through my body, and suddenly on the black screen of the television, a ghostly double appears, mimicking my movements but half a beat slower, with a bewildered and terrified expression.
I reach out my right hand, and the double reaches out too.
I blink, and the double blinks as well. But when I try to speak, the double's lips move, but I can't hear the sound, I can only see the lip movements saying: "Help... help me..." A chill rises up my spine.
I jerk backward, the double disappears, and in the mirror there's only me left, pale-faced, with fear in my eyes.
I'm getting scared!
No, I shouldn't be afraid! I need to find out the truth!
I will wait for that couple to return, I will confront them, threaten them to tell me the truth, and if necessary, I'm even prepared to...
"Michael, we're back!" A familiar voice called out.
When they returned and saw me standing with a knife, their expressions showed not fear, but sadness and understanding.
"Child, put down the knife," the man said softly. "You won't hurt us, just as we would never hurt you."
"Tell me the truth!" I raised the knife, my voice trembling. "Who are you really? Why are you doing this to me?"
"We've already told you," tears welled in the woman's eyes, "We are your parents, and we love you."
I wanted to rush toward them, but my body suddenly felt heavy, as if bound by invisible forces. My right hand trembled, my fingers loosened, and the knife fell to the floor.
"No... this isn't possible..." I stared at my hand, "I clearly wanted to..."
"What have you done to me?" I stepped back, my voice hoarse. "What kind of dark magic did you cast on me?"
The two looked at each other, and that worried expression appeared again.
"Child, there is no dark magic," the man said gently. "This is just your body protecting itself, protecting us. Love is the most powerful force in the world, and it prevents you from doing anything you might regret."
I didn't believe what they said, but my body indeed no longer obeyed my commands. It was as if another consciousness was fighting me for control, and that consciousness was clearly stronger than me.
At night, I pretended to take my medicine and go to sleep, but actually stayed awake. Around two in the morning, I heard faint footsteps. Someone was moving around in the living room.
This couldn't continue. I turned my head and saw the camera I had installed a few days ago.
That night, I stayed up reviewing the surveillance footage.
I suddenly discovered that one night.
At 1 AM, the couple entered my room, and the woman carefully pulled out my pillow.
What shocked me was—after losing my pillow, my head still maintained its original height, floating in the air. My breathing remained steady, my sleeping posture unchanged. Only when the pillow was placed back did my head "fall" onto it.
This defies the basic laws of gravity.
Unless I'm not a normal person, unless my body follows different physical laws, unless the entire world is false.
My head floats in the air, weightless, as if my body is just an empty shell, an illusion.
Perhaps everything I've experienced is part of a greater illusion. Perhaps the real me is still unconscious or asleep somewhere, and this thinking me is just a character in a dream.
