Chapter 1: Ameles potamos

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Imagine a world where people aren't capable of talking. Is it quiet? Is everything better?

Well let me break it to you, such world doesn't exist and all the worlds we dream of won't ever exist. Needless to say that those words can compel you, words can guide you and most importantly words can save you.

It was pretty cold for me to be lying on the floor with my palm stuck to the ground, but I can't resist the urge in my body to feel the frost I'm forbidden to see.

Let's be clear about one thing; this place has no sort of entertainment, or even any kind of happiness ... I think this was the place where the word 'dull' was born. However, who am I to say anything about it. Nothing is ever my call and no one ever listens, not that I talk. I mean why I should talk, when no one is listening. Anyway I have an hour left till I go back to that awful room I visit daily to keep staring awkwardly at that woman so called Julianne. Seriously, I'd rather stay in my own world I built for myself through fantasies and tons of day dreaming.

The time passed quickly and it was time for me to head to the psychiatrist's office. I put on my usual clothes, which were nothing special for a person stuck in a mental hospital.

I reached the door and tried to stall walking inside since the knot in my throat didn't want to go away and since I know that once again, nothing unique will take place. I will not talk and she will not make me, even if she uses violent materials. All sort of images pops in my mind when I think that way, like maybe being electrified, being tortured to death, I even considered her strangling me, and those images immediately disappeared when the doctor opened the door to greet me

"Hello Niala I've been waiting for you what took you so long?" she asked, and as usual I didn't respond.

"Sit down." she said as she motioned me to that chair again. Currently my dearest relationships are with this chair and the floor back in my room; we share one hell of a physical relation. I sat down and stared at the ceiling wondering when this will be over. The doctor started taking notes, if anyone ever asked me what my dying wish will be. My answer would be to tear that journal in her hands apart. I know she must be taking notes about my body language and my gestures but the thing is I'm actually doing nothing to get her to take notes. I basically hate this woman, no not really but I tend to dislike her. After this silent session was over it was dinner time and I welcomed another hour of that awkward silence with another table and some guy called Nickolas who sits next to me. Something about Nickolas: he doesn't utter a word. Not that I blame him. I'm guessing everyone in this place don't speak much. Another thing about Nickolas, he doesn't eat much either and he usually offers his lunch, dinner and breakfast to me using some special gestures we attained after sharing a few silent conversations. Who knew people can somehow communicate without words. In real life I'd shrug on that but since I'm stuck in my mind I would probably hand the idea to my brain, let it analyze it then completely forget about it.

Few more things about being stuck in your mind, you tend to realize how dark and creepy this place might be, and how terrible your silence might force it to be the last place you seek for refuge from everything. Even though it's publicly known that your loneliness can sometimes be your best companion. But you can't blame anyone for trusting their minds, their own lies, their own fantasies and dreams which may or may not come true. So obviously they are all lies.

Believing your mind is the biggest lie humanity will never regret.


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