As the flames continued to erupt in a rampage, I stood shocked by what I was witnessing.
The anger I was feeling mere moments ago disappeared in a flash, doused by the confusion brought forth by the fire raging in front of me.
Suddenly, I felt a warmth touch both my arms—a soothing feeling, as if water were flowing, slowly sending the raging flames to a calm fizzle.
There, I found the doctor's hands pressing on both my arms.
Wholly unaffected by the flames that had previously enveloped him.
"Sit," he said in a calm voice.
Not knowing how to process what had just happened, I complied.
"What is your name, child?"
"Andres... Andres Generoso." I looked at him, trying to gauge anything out of the answer I had just given him.
It was ridiculous, being unsure of something as simple as my own name.
An aspect of myself that had remained true for all of my life.
Not once had I thought of being in a situation as comical and nightmarish as this.
After hearing my answer, he let out a despondent sigh and tilted his head down, which hid his expression.
Feeling the need to learn something, anything, I leaned closer to peer into his face.
And I wish I had not.
The sheer look of destruction marred his expression. His eyes then locked onto mine.
He was obviously feeling pity or grief for whatever it was that was happening to me.
And it freaked me out.
This whole week had been an enigma.
It was either a joke taken too far or a conspiracy against me.
Regardless, I prayed that it would soon end.
Seeing the doctor poised to speak, I interrupted him.
"I need to rest... please leave the room."
Knowing that what I was about to hear would not be any more pleasant than what he had already told me, I decided that now was not the right time.
I needed some space to think.
Or otherwise.
The doctor understood my need to be alone. He nodded his head and asked for the room to be vacated.
-0-
A few hours later, I awoke in the middle of the night, my thoughts drawing blank.
I looked down at the blanket covering my body and pulled both my arms out to observe them.
Fresh and full of youth is how I would describe them. A weird phrasing to describe one's limbs, or one's anything, for that matter. But what has not been weird for me as of late anyway?
These hands—they were not mine.
That, I was sure of.
If my hands were not the same, chances are other parts of me might be different too.
A ridiculous thought, but I was most likely not in my own body.
Am I even me?
Then, from the corner of my eye, on the bedside table, a file was placed on its surface.
Patient information: **Rell Zorias**.
I picked it up, knowing that it was probably left here for me to read intentionally.
I gathered my courage and flipped the first page.
The details of his birth, his maternal and paternal information, address, blood type.
Even details that I could not understand but were evidently of importance, such as: house origin, lineage, alignment. Details that were unknown to me, written down.
Flipping the page further showed what seemed to be a family tree—expansive and well-detailed, including even small portraits of the listed people.
Going through the pages, more information surrounding Rell was written down. The majority of it was far too alien for me to make sense of.
At some point, realizing the futility of going further, I placed the file down. Feeling contemplative, I looked at my palms, trying to glean anything from them, fully knowing that I would get nothing out of it.
I picked up the file, intending to place it back on top of the bedside table, but that was when I noticed a hand mirror.
It had been covered by the file, so I did not see it before.
After reading the file just now, there was no way I would not look into it, so I did.
Two red pupils were staring right back at me.
Shallow cheeks unable to hide the shape and contours of the face reflected back.
It was bald too, but, judging by the red brows adorning it, the hair was probably of the same color.
I should be surprised. I am.
But I do not have the bandwidth to be, right at this moment.
Accepting is easier than trying to deny or reason.
There probably is a reason; however, now is not the right moment for it.
-0-
The next day, after following the usual care routine that I always received from the nurses, I was given a message by the doctor named William from the day prior through one of those nurses.
He asked if I was ready to talk about the possibility of treatment later in the day. Something about the soul and a specialist that he vouched for.
As usual, it did not make sense to me.
Nothing has in a while.
The best I could do was trust that this doctor, William, had my best interests in mind.