The boy clumsily shot up the ladder. It took him multiple tries to even get close to the top, but the boy didn’t mind. Falling many times was not his concern. His body knew how to climb, as if he had done it before. His mind, however, had forgotten this thing as much as everything else. When he had finally gotten to the top, The boy pulled himself out from the chute that the ladder was in. Scrambling out onto the floor, the boy looked up and once again examined his surroundings. It was another area, the red lights still flashing but not being the only things illuminating the sleek white hallway. Dim, flickering lights were the main light source illuminating the area. The boy no longer had to grab the wall to walk, as his mind had become somewhat accustomed to the motion. Stumbling down the hallway, the boy noticed many rooms with cots and suspicious looking tools on the walls. Some tools had sharp ends, others had needled points. The boy did not know why he felt a strong aversion to the objects. It was as if his body, his being, were detested by the mere sight of them so much so that he would reject the very notion of going anywhere near them. Needless to say, he walked down the middle of the hallway as far from the rooms as possible. Like the dark cellar before, the boy did not know the extent of the time that he had been stumbling down the lonely corridor. During this time, the boy began to think again. Where was he? This thought was not among the important ones, however. Who? Who was he? That thought, the most important question, flew through his mind. It filled him with a sense of dread, with fear. He could not remember a thing, not past the lonely room in which hunger had awoken him. Hunger… yes, hunger. The craving for something to make him complete. This feeling was his only recovered memory. The feeling of it was painful, yes, but he knew, just knew, that feeling was a part of himself. Not the one who woke up in the room, but the one before. It was his burning curiosity that drove him forward and settled a goal. It was his hunger that established an understanding. From the short time that the boy had known this world, he swore that he would become himself once more. He swore that he would satiate this hunger that he knew even past this incomplete version of himself. It was those thoughts, those convictions, that kept his feet moving toward the end of this wretched hall. Driven by these thoughts, the boy stumbled faster, shuffled quicker. He had to, no, he must get to the end. Suddenly, the sharp clang of metal resounded around the area. Snapping back to reality, the boy looked up from his bare feet. It was a door. Handles showed themselves on the midsection of the door, beckoning him to push outward and reveal what lay behind those mysterious walls. One hand outstretched, the boy put his hands on one handle of the wide double doors. He pushed outward. The door did not budge. The boy began to become angry. He was too weak, his body too tired for reasons he did not know. Straining against the door, he pushed and pushed. With a loud creak of metal, the door gave way. The boy fell through, hitting the hard ground. The boy did not even register the pain. He was too ecstatic. Closer, closer. He did not know what he was close to, but he knew he was close. Looking up from the cold floor, the boy registered his surroundings. It was a wide room, nothing like the box he had woken up in. A circular reception desk stood in the middle of the room marking it as the focal point of the area. Chairs, tipped over and upright, littered the floor. There was broken glass, vases, and other ceramics. The boy clumsily got to his feet. He stumbled forward, ignoring the glass underneath his feet. This, he thought. This was finally it. The gaps, and holes in his memory did not even cause him to falter now. No confused expression, no curious thoughts rocketing around in his not right head. His feelings, instincts he had left over from since he was complete, compelled him forward. Even now he knew he hated this place, detested its very existence. Now…now, he was almost out. Out to the place where he may recover what he once was. The closer he came to the cracked but still reflective double doors leading from the center, the faster he walked. Then, he saw himself. The boy did not know what the thing leading his motions looked like. He did not even know that it had features, only the visible parts of his being he knew he had. Looking at the person in front of him reflected in the glass, he saw a pale, slim, gaunt figure. It had gray, almost white unkempt hair and gray eyes rimmed red that reflected malice and hatred. There was dirt, ash, and other things smeared along the boy’s bare body save for nothing but ripped and dirty white pants. Multiple scars littered his body, twisting it into an unsightly shape. The boy put his hand to the glass, and his reflection did the same. Was he this thing that mirrored his movements? He put another hand to the glass. Was this the real him? He stared, and his reflection stared back. For the first time since he could remember, he spoke. “One day, I will know you.” He spoke with conviction, with purpose, with resolve. The promise the boy made wandering the long hallways would come to pass. His life would be known to him. He would stitch himself back together, bit by bit, piece by piece, memory by memory. The hunger within him, the only feeling he remembered, seemed to ease, if agreeing. A wicked smile came across his face, teeth showing themselves. He would get back who he once was, no matter what. Faced with this purpose, the boy gained strength. He had no name, no past, and an uncertain future. No, he did not need them. His goal was enough, his hunger to push him forward. With that thought, with that resolve, he pushed on his reflection. Then, as if being born anew, the world’s light consumed him.

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