chaotically touch the face. Mark shudders and no longer owns himself. On his path, the boy stops at point X. The only thing Mark is now sure of is that he reached the clinic. His breathing does not intermit, his head is clear. For a moment, Mark even forgets why he is there. But at the cabinet of Special Therapy, contemplating two neurotics, he remembers all his fears. A boy and a girl about his age: eyes empty, movements sharp.
Mark’s every step towards the cabinet is followed by him looking into their faces
with more and more attention – as though they are reflections of his face each morning. The three of them: the glimmer of their youth covered with a web of wrinkles and their eyes tired from a several nights’ exhaustion.
The hall is empty: no sound, no objection.
The echoing heavy steps break the silence. A tall, slim man dressed in a white coat emerges from the corner and gets shot by the immediate stares of the three exhausted pairs of eyes. The doctor carelessly passes the patients and walks confidently to the cellar next to the cabinet. Jingling a bunch of keys, he opens the door.
Mark no longer feels calm; the handle of his bag slips out of his hand and mercilessly cuts into his fingers. The doctor hears and smiles with a corner of his mouth, exposing his silver tooth. He chooses the biggest key and licks it, giving the boy a cold stare. Fear penetrates Mark, he shivers and shudders from the unknown, whilst his reality is stomping away, back into the hall.
The play begins. Three patients ready for group therapy enter a spacious room silently. They are welcomed by a nice man. Nothing like the stranger who likes to lick iron objects, he does not look like a doctor.
The room is bare minimum: the lilac spaciousness is illuminated by the light coming from the fireplace. Mark notes to himself that the fire is actually real. He catches the sight of a projector screen that is stretched out across the whole of the wall in front of him.
One, two, three – Mark is trying to count to himself, as he lastly sits in a green chair.
"Well, we're starting", the therapist announces politely.
The door is now closed. The man sits in a chair behind his patients. The screen comes to life.
The first slide carries a heading Nelly is Not a Bad Girl.
Under everybody’s cold stare, Nelly shudders. A picture of a cute little girl appears.
Click.
The now black screen gives birth to a loud cry. Mark closes his eyes and turns the pages of a perfectly black book he created in his mind as a distraction. A hundred and twenty, a hundred and twenty-one, a hundred and twenty-two… The now quiet in the room is followed by natural curiosity.
The screen is shooting pictures of young Nelly with wounds covering the whole of her body.
“Is this my name?! Is this actually my name!?”, the girl cried abruptly. She jumped off the chair and approached the therapist.
“What do you even know about this? Who is this Nelly? Who are you to show this to people?!”.
The answer, however, was on the screen.
Click.
The slide was a snuff video, in which the girl was brutally beaten with a long piece of wire.
Click.
The focus is now on her face. The patient is Nelly. Nelly is the patient.
“I’m starting to remember”, she says coldly, with relief. She then returns to her seat.
The next series of shocking slides is about a young boy.
Jim is Not a Murderer says the heading.
Click.
A picture of an old house in a province.
The boy sitting next to Mark tenses his fists and hits his chest.
Click.
A tall figure is looking through a window.
Click.
A selfie of an ugly face, in the background of which you can notice the boy cooking.
“That’s me!”, states the boy. You Will Remember Everything states the text on the screen.
Click.
Another video, but low-quality picture and sound.
“I finally found you”, echoes a disgusting voice. A hollow cry penetrates everybody in the room. You can hear broken dishes and the rumbling of the falling furniture.
“Oh, no. He’s dead. Mom! Mom!” The video ends.
The screen shows a professional shoot. The focus is now on the tall figure in the puddle of blood. Jim has a knife in his hands. He drops the cold weapon and leaves. In a few seconds, the figure comes back to life.
Mark realizes that now he will remember everything. The boy does not even imagine what awaits him. But this time, he does not have time to think.
Click.
Well Done, Mark. The originality of the heading attracts too much attention.
A picture of an asylum. The sound of jingling keys.
“I didn’t burn my paintings!” a desperate voice from the screen cries out. Every sound has now merged into a unison.
“Mark, you have to take the pills, or we will not release you”, says the quote in the background of the boy standing next to the burnt canvasses.
Mark’s fingernails firmly cut into his long legs. He starts to choke, his hands shaking. The screen goes out.
Click.
A video in which a tall black figure is entering the room, holding a lighter.
“It’s all him!” cries out Jim. “Look, what a stretch! This maniac is just as tall”, he throws himself at Mark.
“Your arguments say nothing! It’s this one, I remember being beaten by a stout man!” Nelly points at the therapist.
“You all are mental!” Mark releases himself from the grip of Jim’s arms around his shoulders and throws his bag in the fireplace. With heavy rumbling, the bag falls into the fire.
The spray-paint bottles start spitting and a wave of flame covers the room. Sound of explosion.
A photo robot of the stranger with a bunch of keys on the screen.
Click.
The picture is his own.
There’s no way out?
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