Day 113 - Ka Story

Ka Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Ka didn’t feel any different. He thought he would. He thought he should. But he didn’t. He was thirsty and hungry like he always was when he woke up. He hadn’t really woken up, but he didn’t have the exact words for what had happened, so his mind, his current mind, processed it as sleep. It wasn’t waking up at all. It was sudden existence. Again. One moment not there, the next moment there. The brain was off, and then it was on again.

A lamp was left on. There was food laid out on a table and a glass of water. He mouth was open and dry and his lips were chapped. It was still dark, but a shade of grey was growing apparent as the morning was sure to rise.

Ka was hungry and thirsty so he ate and drank. He ate and drank and thought about what he should do next. He didn’t know who had left him the food and water, but he was sure it had been left for him. He didn’t worry too much about that. That was not one of the things that ultimately mattered. There had been many before and there would be many yet to come. Their names and faces would change, but their jobs would be the same. What mattered to him right now was figuring out who or what he was exactly and just what it was he was supposed to be doing.

His memory was hazy at best, but he knew that was always the case. It wasn’t that memory was impossible to retain, it was just that memory was so subjective to begin with and relied on far too many of the other senses to work properly. Memory couldn’t be willed into remembrance. Memory couldn’t be laid out as a graph or line or put together like a puzzle. Memory was one of those intangible things that could just happen. Sometimes it happened because of its own accidental volition, sometimes because there was a catalyst to spark it. Ka knew this. He remembered that he knew this. He knew that usually he needed music or a smell or a song or something to pull his memory into some small form of clarity. There was no one tool or trade. Nothing he could leave himself to find when he woke. It was never one thing and it was never the same.

There were things he wished he could forget. But that wasn’t in the wiring, he supposed. He wished he could be pickier, and simply pluck the few memories and thoughts that he wanted and leave the rest behind. He would have to look into that, if he remembered to. There was a way of forgetting the first and simplest thoughts he would have. He knew that too. He knew he should write more things down, but somehow always forget to do that. He thought he should have a notebook or a paper next to his bed. Something so that when he woke up there might be written instructions to assist him. Maybe he did that sometimes and he just couldn’t remember the last time or what he had done with the notebook. Or maybe he didn’t always have these types of thoughts, and whenever he took the time to think and plan ahead he woke not needing the notebook. Or maybe whoever was leaving him the water and food was also removing the notebook he had set out for himself.

That would be an awful twist, he thought. They were clearly set to serve him on some level, ensuring his health and life, but they were possibly restricting him as well. He should think about that more too. He should be less trusting. But how could he remember to be less trusting when part of the whole process necessitated him trusting those that watched over him while he slept? And the people were such a blur. There had been so many of them. He had lost count a long time ago. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep track of them all. He didn’t see a quick and easy solution to the problem, so he decided to table it for the time being.

He usually felt better after a sleep, more whole. In the past he had always felt better, but not as often anymore. Right now he felt directionless. He was remembering more and more of what he was supposed to do, or what he thought he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t make himself care. Just because that had been important previously, why did it have to be important again? He usually just blindingly accepted the standards and desires of the past, but now he wasn’t as sure. Something had changed. He had evolved in some way, but wasn’t sure how or why. He supposed it made sense. Everything evolved and changed, so why shouldn’t he? He just wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. It seemed like it had been forever since he had to reevaluate and make a decision like this before. He took too much of the past for granted, too much of himself for granted. It was far too easy to accept and not to evaluate. He would have to start changing the way he was thinking about things. He wondered if that was possible. He had been hardwired a certain way for so long, he didn’t know if he wanted to change. But change didn’t ask permission. That, he was sure, he didn’t like.