Snippet #966447

Raziel had woken up the same way he had for over a year, getting up a few hours early and discovering a journal by his bedside - everyday being like a first when reading it. Switching on a small lamp, contractible walls surrounded him, giving him the seclusion he needed. His condition made it almost impossible for him to really befriend anyone, nonetheless deal with the awkwardness between him and his roommates every morning. “Umm... who are you?” Having yet to admit his problem, most people just wrote him off as ‘weird’ or ‘mental’. Unfortunately he was both and it wasn’t everyone else writing him off that was the real problem – because he was in a state of questioning his own sanity. If you don’t believe in yourself, how can you hope for anyone else to?

Caressing the cover of the journal lightly, he sighed as he repeated the last few words from the previous day. “Welcome to day one of the Pioneer I Raziel. You’re alone... only solitude is your ally. No memory of who we are... we can only pray to soon discover our self...” Closing the autobiography of his own life, he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling aimlessly, almost shocked that he had written that whole book without having any recollection of the deed. It was almost like a nightmare, one in where he would never reawaken. Little did he know that the blank pages were running out, and there was only so much time before the ink of his pen went dry. Like the sand in an hourglass, he was on borrowed time. If he didn’t find out something soon...

Interrupted by one of his roommates informing him that it was breakfast, he only smiled and nodded in response before standing up and pacing. Fingertips dancing along the wall, he marveled at the collage of pictures, endless drawings of faces and people he had met – but the beautiful dancing girl was always more frequently seen. Who was she? He might never know... she might not even exist at all. Just a figment of his imagination, a meaningless portrait of a shadow mirroring the illusion of what life could one day be.

Taking a hot shower and getting dressed, he placed a small handbag around his shoulder where he kept his journal at all times – his only link to the memories that would normally be lost. Snagging a few pictures from the walls and folding them up, he slipped them into the bag before leaving the room and staggering down the hallway. Straying from the others, he eyed the floor most the time, not making contact with anyone. As the book stated, being alone was his only option. Raziel couldn’t risk making friends with anyone because he was nothing more than a burden to be shared.