This bar is filthy, and they are laughing at me. Why? How can they judge me like that? The rag water beer is what they should be offering opprobrium toward, not me. Distracting myself from the beady gaze of the few patrons in the dim lighting, I glimpse at my surroundings as I nervously carve etchings into the beer-stained table. The walls are a fusion of white and yellow, remnants of the days when smoking tobacco was lawful and a testament to the dereliction of the establishment. A few cheap paintings hang on the wall to offer some semblance of culture, but I have only paid enough attention to notice them peripherally in the years of hanging and gathering dust.
They are still looking over here. The knife is carving deeper etchings, almost like my hand was moving of its own free will. I wish I could carve out those eyes. A thought that belongs in Tartarus but in the confines of my mind, a welcome release of the tension these men are creating. The knife, where did it come from? I trace my mind to earlier this evening; how did I acquire this knife cutting into the table? My mind is empty like a bath plug being removed starts draining all thoughts. I place the knife on the table to dam my escaping thoughts and spark my memorial antechamber to give me access to the events of earlier; why can I not remember? The barkeep glances over, 'NO weapons; get rid of it,' he yells while pouring another glass of sewage water. Imagine talking without a tongue; what a curious sight to behold, this sharp blade laying before me could carve out everybody's tongue in this tavern. Alas, the confines of internal monologue prevent such thoughts from escaping into the ether.
I place the knife on my vermillion leather booth seat; it has no sheath. I must have been carrying it in hand when I entered this bar. Why can't I remember? I notice my empty glass and decide to brave another of the tavern's only tap beer. The journey would be small; there were three booths with beams of vermillion red leather seats on the left-hand side, each with its small circular dust-stained window that offered a view of nothing but fields and the weather. The narrow walkway from the entrance door led to the only toilet, and the bar on the right-hand side with randomly placed bar stools was disproportionate to the small enclosure, such as it was aesthetically out of place, it belonged more to the land of Brobdingnag than here.
On my approach, the beady eyes of the patrons started to investigate their beer. I placed my hand on the rough oak bar table. 'I said put that knife away,' shouted the bartender, with hesitancy in his voice. The knife was back in my hand. I don't remember picking it up; it was only a few moments ago, yet it is in my hand on the bar table. My image reflected in the eight-inch onyx blade like a sinister mirror shows the soul's darkest Hyde. All I say is 'another' and walk back to my seat. Why can't I remember?
My mind is empty; I need answers. The bartender gingerly places the pint glass on the table. I notice the patrons have stopped laughing at me; is this the power of fear? Fear of this knife? Or fear of me that has the knife? Such questions are futile in the rising emotions of feeling like a lion among sheep who delights in the vortex of a panic-stricken mass after showing its teeth. I could end their fear and their unnecessary emotions; what a gift I could bestow on them; after all, not one person asked to be alive; is it not fitting that they have no say in death?
My hand trembles at the thought of giving these strange men the ultimate gift. To experience the love of their God at my hands, is that not a service to humanity? Is that not worthy of remembrance as the world's greatest philanthropist? Why can't I remember? I drink the putrid beer and focus my energy on recollection, staring at the yellow-white wall. I feel the curved handle of the knife; its smoothness is comforting. A vision flashes before my mind's eye: a dead body lying on the floor. That's all. More questions to answer. How can I forget events from earlier? I must remember earlier in the day for my own sanity.
The bar's door opens. The wind catches the door and forces it open with a crash, allowing a potent concoction of wind and rain to circulate the small bar, clearing the stale air. A tall man enters the bar, keenly surveying all his surroundings but keeping muted. The patrons stare at him, another stranger for them to mock. He shut the door quickly and easily; considering the wind blew the door wide open the ease with I supposed this man had considerable upper body strength; however, he was no match for my eight-inch blade, just another person to whom I could bestow my gift.
I go back to my thoughts and attempt to remember the recent past. I'm lost in my mind when I get a faint fragrance of lavender and orange. Is this another memory flash, or is it in the room? I look up from the table and see a hooded figure opposite me. All I can see is a wet cloak sitting across from me - no features, just mass. I gaze at the mass of humanity, my hand grips the blade handle tightly; the time has come to bestow my gift onto all these children of mine, starting with this person who has the unmitigated gall to sit across from me. I pull the knife from the seat as the dark flash of the onyx blade catches the dim light; the figure bangs their fist on the table like the pounding of a hammer.
I stop all my movements. Two more bangs on the table, and everything is darkening: the bar, the glass, the booth, all but the figure before me. Three bangs. I'm motionless. Unable to move, I only see a bright white light forcing me to close my eyes. All I can do is listen to ascertain what has happened. I can make out two voices, both female, talking in muffled tones as if they were behind a thin wall or door. 'his deterioration is not what Dr H___ expects Lucy.' Said one. 'He still thinks his actions are a 'gift' and that is a problem; increase the dosage; he is going to be here a very long time; fortunately, the memory compression theory of Dr R___ was successful, and he cannot remember anything of that night'. Replied the other. I managed to hear that before their voices faded into obscurity. What have they done to me?