Identity Crisis
and so i awoke.
stranded and confused at the side of some country road. dizzy and lost. i looked down at myself and im not in my own clothes. i don't own this plaid shirt. i dont have these brown shoes. these are not my trousers. i look inside and these are not my underwear. i check my pockets and i find a phone that isn't mine full of numbers of people i dont know. i also find a wallet i have never seen before in my life full of money i didnt earn. i look further into the wallet and there is nothing but a library card with a name on that isnt mine. i pick up these collected items and find my feet. i take a look around and its dusk. the sun has gone to sleep but it isnt yet night time. there is a slight humid feeling in the air. a storm is coming. i walk ahead to try and find something or someone.
after the turn to the right i find an old country pub. there are no plants and no tables, just this old shed that could be as much a slaughterhouse as it could be a bar. i step inside and it's low lighting all around. paintings of hunt-scenes adorn the walls and old farming equipment is hung as decoration. certificates and medals fill one wall, all awarded for best kept livestock. tastiest beef. best baked loaf.
the man behind the bar, he has wrinkled, worn skin. spurts of grey and white hair randomly shoot out from different areas on his head of old shoe-boot leather. he stares at me with eyes that look like they have seen wars, sadness, massacres and disasters. his eyes not only look like they have seen these things, they look like they had a smile attached when they happened.
i ask him where i am.
he stares at me a second longer, faceless and without expression, untill the tiny muscles in his face contract and his withering lips rise like they are being pulled out at each end. his mouth falls open and his teeth of sepia-tone stain face me head-on. and his laugh is truly damning.
at that moment i realise that where i am has no relevance. i no longer have a name or a face. i look around and see a mirror on another wall. it is not my head on my shoulders. i am no longer who i thought i was.
stranded and confused at the side of some country road. dizzy and lost. i looked down at myself and im not in my own clothes. i don't own this plaid shirt. i dont have these brown shoes. these are not my trousers. i look inside and these are not my underwear. i check my pockets and i find a phone that isn't mine full of numbers of people i dont know. i also find a wallet i have never seen before in my life full of money i didnt earn. i look further into the wallet and there is nothing but a library card with a name on that isnt mine. i pick up these collected items and find my feet. i take a look around and its dusk. the sun has gone to sleep but it isnt yet night time. there is a slight humid feeling in the air. a storm is coming. i walk ahead to try and find something or someone.
after the turn to the right i find an old country pub. there are no plants and no tables, just this old shed that could be as much a slaughterhouse as it could be a bar. i step inside and it's low lighting all around. paintings of hunt-scenes adorn the walls and old farming equipment is hung as decoration. certificates and medals fill one wall, all awarded for best kept livestock. tastiest beef. best baked loaf.
the man behind the bar, he has wrinkled, worn skin. spurts of grey and white hair randomly shoot out from different areas on his head of old shoe-boot leather. he stares at me with eyes that look like they have seen wars, sadness, massacres and disasters. his eyes not only look like they have seen these things, they look like they had a smile attached when they happened.
i ask him where i am.
he stares at me a second longer, faceless and without expression, untill the tiny muscles in his face contract and his withering lips rise like they are being pulled out at each end. his mouth falls open and his teeth of sepia-tone stain face me head-on. and his laugh is truly damning.
at that moment i realise that where i am has no relevance. i no longer have a name or a face. i look around and see a mirror on another wall. it is not my head on my shoulders. i am no longer who i thought i was.
posted by TokenArtStudent at 8:42:00 pm
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