Fault? Not mine!

Any other time it would have felt cliché’. His knotted fist pressed against his furrowed brow in the "thinkers" position. However the fingers, of his other hand were drumming on the gritty floor of a cold concrete cell, as he contemplated how he came to this doom.

He couldn’t be more abandoned by a Truth he had always imagined he understood. That Truth he remembered apparently had no real meaning. It may have never really had any true meaning, to begin with, other then to feed his own, self- sustaining delusion.

He had never encountered any obvious reason to question his convictions. He had always thoughtlessly sprinted headlong on ward in a life he had deluded was somewhat guided by himself. His twilight years, he should have been looking forward to, were never going to arrive.

Hadn’t he been guided by his, treasured, belief in his Truth? Had It not-his Truth- help influence his decisions that created opportunities and opened unforeseen doors?

His thoughts were interrupted by a long wailing shriek that trailed off into a whimpering moan that reverberated in the damp concrete walls. He lowered his clenched hand from his head and opened his eyes and looked from side to side. For some odd -just out of memory’s reach- reason he felt he should know the origin of the screams. He should have been certain. However uncertainty was a constant companion that was always available and the only thing he dare depend on.

Uncertainty was the only truth he could believe in now. He dropped his head and shook it as if to deny this paradox. Acknowledging this did nothing to abate the madness of his condemnation.

The light, behind him, flickered causing his shadow to dart and dance on the wall before him. It reminded him, not all that long ago, he was capable of such carefree movements. The light flickered again and his shadow now seemed to mock his dark reverie. Yet, he had, recently moved about like a free man and at that time it never occurred to him that freedom of movement was something he would miss, and to think he had once taken his freedom for granted.

An infinite abyss of abject panic assailed him as he realized that it was not only going to be carefree movement that he would be missing. He pounded both of his clenched fists on the soulless floor and rammed his head upon the same uncaring floor. He silently groaned.

If he could, only, forget. That’s all he wanted right now was to not remember a thing. Please he whispered to himself ‘I want to be in merciful blissful ignorance of the past instead of this partial memory, here or there, and every damn time I try to focus on the memory the memory becomes hazy and slips away.’ He only had fragments of memory about recent occurrences. Such as how exactly he arrived in here. He knew he was in here for a reason that really made no sense and definitely was not fair. But what was the reason? He felt abandoned. He, sensed, he should prepare for an unspeakable ordeal that lay in wait before him.

But he just kept coming back to the injustice of it all. And then it started all over again. His Truth. Where had he gone so wrong?

This time, when he groaned, the sound was audible to his own ears. And once again he found himself trying to rationalize how he came to be where he now languished. A tear welled up in the corner of his eye. He paid it no mind. He had fragmented bits of memory that hinted at exhausting and extensive efforts to rescue him from this ungodly predicament, which had failed. He was incredulous that he would ever of arrived at such a level of devastation and then resign himself to It.