Corridor

Memories are normally continuous. But the archictecture of this building, like my memories, is hardly in continuum with the things related to it.

Before I ceased to exist, I was losing a conflict. It seemed overwhelming to defeat it; I lost, I was left in the past, dead.

Destre told me to find the place where I belong, in this place with no doors. Who am I, really?

I walked through the corridor; there were windows, or images, all in sequence as I followed the path which seemingly had no end.

When I regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was a mirror. Is this really me? This face I see before me. I neither know, nor even care if this is the historically similar person to whom I left. I don’t seem to care about anything. This isn’t the person I remembered myself to be. I am a resurrection, perhaps? I was brought from death unduly for some wider point. Or, I was revived as perhaps some emotional response from Sinistre.

On one side of the corridor, I see the hopes that Sinistre has, depicted as images, visions, dreams. On the other, I see his reality. Sometimes the reality is obscured by the opposing dream facing it; other times, it seems so feint, that no one would ever notice what really happened to this man.

I see childhood memories, I see even myself, or who I remember to be. My earliest attachments, my family, my oldest friends. These were some of the dear memories that I remembered dying away before I ceased to be. Why is this coming back to me?

There was something about who I was, before I came across Father Thomas and the Sinistreans. Who was I? What was I? What did I hope and aspire for before philosophy? Before Areopagus. What did I desire? WHat did I want? Something must have happened; something must have died away inside Sinistre around the time I ceased to be. Is that my goal, is that why I have returned? To help Sinistre find his memories? This corridor has no decorum, no beginning, no end. Every step forward is identical to the steps behind; it matters not whether I walk a mile forward, or stay still, or even go backwards. Everything is homogenous, stale, lifeless.

Where is my new friend, Destre? Perhaps this corridor is the only way I can help Sinistre; perhaps this corridor is my way of finding meaning for myself. Perhaps, through this gallery of our memories; I will find myself again, and my tender memories. I feel a sense of loss, a sense of yearning; but I need to explore further within this corridor, even if I can get out of here.

Exploring this manifold, inside the mind of Sinistre. Is what I must do to understand, to find some kind of meaning, or purpose.

Sinistre*

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