Even before I opened my eyes, I knew that I wasn’t myself. Somehow, I wasn’t.

My chest felt heavy as I took a breath, my eyes struggled to open, my body refused to do as I commanded. Upon opening my eyes, I looked down at my body and saw why I didn’t feel like myself: for I wasn’t. This body, whosever it was, wasn’t mine. There were no specific aspects that repulsed me, but seeing the entirety of my form as it moved was sickening as if watching a human marionette fumble about, attempting to move but having no control over itself.

 Drawing my eyes away from this horror, I noticed for the first time the situation I was in. In confusion and terror I observed that I was strapped to a hospital bed. Rusted was its iron frame and the smell of decay and death arose from the rotting mattress I was forced upon. The silver moonlight broke through the window behind me and sparkled upon sharp, metal instruments that had been laid at my side.

The room, filled with the eerie glow of midnight, was just as unkempt; rain water dripped through the ceiling slats, creating a pool at the room’s edge and giving the area a damp, suffocating atmosphere. The scurrying of rats could be heard within the walls, a scent of formaldehyde reached my nose, and I felt the cold, damp, bandage-like straps binding my wrists and ankles to the bed posts.

 Fear gripped my heart and held fast. My lungs refused to take in air and I gasped for breath. When I felt that the terror would soon engulf me entirely, I heard uneven footsteps approaching down the hall.

I strained my neck to look, but the unfamiliar muscles of the body hindered me from seeing farther than its chest. A door creaked open and the owner of the footsteps entered as I saw a face come into view. It was a man dressed as a doctor, tall and slender, with a pointed gray beard and cold, gray eyes that pierced my very heart, replacing the fear with a new terror that I could not put into words.

“Hello, Mr. Galloway,” the inhuman physician uttered, looking at me with interest and a kind of hatred. “I’m glad you’re awake. I’m also happy to tell you that you are our first successful test subject. Don’t worry. The man’s body you are currently in is in perfect condition and we promise to take good care of your old, um well let’s call it your old ‘vessel’,” he continued, with a nonchalant air.

 Mortified, a wave of nausea swept over me and I opened my mouth to utter a reply, but nothing came forth. The doctor’s face spread into a contorted smile as he watched me writhe in terror, awkwardly moving my body trying to free myself.

Sitting down beside me he said, “Just relax. You’ll get used to it soon. You survived the process which means you’re strong enough to see this through. Thank you for that. I need you so I can continue my work. Now wait here, I’ll be back soon. I’m not quite done with you yet,” the last part he mumbled to himself. His monotonous voice lacked any kind of feeling, be it hatred or sympathy I couldn’t tell. He rose with a sigh and shuffled with heavy, uneven step out the door, pausing to look back at me with his bone-chilling, strained smile.

Once the door had swung closed behind him, and I heard him no more, I began to struggle against my bonds, awkwardly twisting and turning to free myself. Heart pounding in my chest, I knew, somehow, that this would be my only chance to escape if I had any. The body moved against my commands, but I felt myself growing stronger as I struggled. I forced my head to look upwards at my wrists and noticed, like a beacon of hope, a sharp screw sticking out from the bedstead on my right. Straining every unaccustomed muscle to reach it, I began to move my wrists in a sawing motion to rip through the tight, bandage-like ties that held me fast. Moving as quickly as possible to avoid the doctor’s return, I took little notice of the cuts the sharp screw inflicted on my aching wrist. With a snap of success my right hand was freed and I began to manually untie my left hand as well as my feet. Upon reaching to free the last tie on my ankle I heard a soft yet bone-chilling sound approaching from the hall outside: the uneven footsteps of the doctor. Far away still, the irregular sound sent a chill down my spine and rooted me to the spot.

How would I ever escape this? Would I ever be able to return to my real body or would I be stuck like this for eternity? Where was my body? Was it still here, lurking nearby, vacant of all life and soul? I felt a strong urge inside of me, a dire need to find my true self in this haunting hospital. I couldn’t simply leave this hellish place and be forced to live the rest of my existence in this unfamiliar being. It would be like a living nightmare that I could never awake from.

An unknown energy awakened my spirit and I sprang into action, knowing that the doctor would soon enter and be ready to inflict, whatever his abominable plan was, upon me.

Jumping to my feet, I fell backwards to the bed as quickly as I had stood, for I was still unaccustomed to this prison of flesh I was biologically bound to. Grasping the bed frame to stable myself, I stood shakily and forced my legs to move towards the door opposite the one the doctor would soon burst through. I held to the walls and tables like a child learning to walk for the very first time and made my way out the door into another hallway void of all life and compassion. The rats I had heard earlier ran for cover through damp, moldy holes at the base of the walls and the sound of their claws scuttling across the floor made me shiver in disgust. A chill ran through the air and the smell of decay wafted up through every dank, dark corner of the eerie hall. I had only the faint glow of the moon emitting through the crevices of every adjacent doorway to light my field of vision. As soon as the door had swung behind me, shutting me off from that terrifying world and welcoming me to the next, I had heard the footsteps enter my old hospital room. Scarcely daring to breathe, I listened as the doctor shuffled through the room, not emitting the slightest sound of confusion or anger to express his feelings regarding my escape, just lifeless treads. My senses heightened, I could feel the beating of this strange heart inside me and the legs beneath me grew stronger as I stood in horror. Not wanting to stay a second longer, I stumbled as silently as possible down the hall and away from my adversary.

Doors were open on every side of me and I peered into each, desiring and fearing nothing more than to see a familiar face, my own face. But, I was greeted with the huddled forms of others lying in the decaying hospital beds, sleeping like death. The smell of rotting flesh emitted from each patient’s room as if they were only vacant corpses. Forced to look upon each motionless frame as I made my search, my unfamiliar brow grew clammy from the sickening sight of lifelessness that greeted me at every turn. Shaking me back to this cruel reality, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from a distance caused me to quicken my fruitless quest. I stared back down the hall behind, searching for my pursuer yet hoping against all odds that he would not be staring back at me. One step, the next, each sound reverberated in my ears like the pounding of a battle drum. My nerves heightened and my breath quickened as I temporarily gave up on my search to seek shelter from my predator. I could hear the steps were almost upon me and I frantically stumbled down the hall, throwing my frame through a swinging door at the end of the corridor.

Pressing my back against the opposite side of the door, I knew that the doctor would be seconds behind. Holding my breath, this unfamiliar heart beat so loudly I feared that it would burst through its cage, but the footfalls of my hunter were no more. I peered carefully through the small, thin windows of the door and saw nothing, no one was in sight. Confused but relieved, I turned to survey the room I had run to as protection from the coming storm. Darker than the others, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the confined area. I appeared to have entered the hospital’s surgical room, for it held a variety of sharp instruments and complex equipment that caused an eerie, uncomfortable feeling to rise within me. Streaks of dried blood ran across the floor, showing that someone had very crudely attempted to mop up the remains of a very gory scene. Closed off from the outside world, the only source of light came in small beams from the window slats of the double paneled door I had run through.

What I beheld next shook me to the core and filled me with a mixture of disgust and awe. The legs beneath me grew weak and I grasped the table next to me for support as I looked upon the object of my search: my body. My empty frame lie on the metal surgical table, covered with a sheet and eyes closed, my skin as white as snow. The sight was nothing like I had imagined, for I barely recognized myself. It was nothing like observing a reflection through a mirror; what I saw was a shape that terrified me but was irrefutably mine.

 But a thought arose inside me: what if it wasn’t? What if this wasn’t my body on the table and the frame I had been confined to was actually the object of my search? How was I so sure what was or wasn’t reality? For the first time, I felt doubt and confusion replace the fear.

Who was I, really? Emotions flooded in and I looked at the empty vessel in front of me. It was like witnessing the death of a loved one, but not seeing them for who they were, but simply as what you wanted them to be. A part of me had been forcibly taken and dire sadness mixed with confusion overtook my thoughts. My mind cleared itself of all outside influences, all else fading away from my vision except for the sight of my own body lying in front of me.

Engulfed entirely by my thoughts, at first I didn’t even hear the sound of the footsteps returning. I was jolted awake by a strong force throwing me to the floor and my head knocked against the cold tiles. Dazed and nearly unconscious, my mind viewed the last moments in slow motion. The doctor stooped over me with his twisted grin and reached out his hands to take me back to my old prison cell. Realizing that I would rather risk everything than become the subject of his cruel experiments, I turned my gaze to my right hand and saw, just within reach, a scalpel lying at my side. Nearing unconsciousness, I grasped the knife carefully and swung upwards with all my might towards the neck of my attacker. Whether I had hit my mark or not, I could not know, for I had drifted from reality into darkness.

When I awoke, I opened my eyes to see that I was once again trapped inside this unfamiliar body and strapped to a hospital bed.

 But, this was different.

 Contrary to my first experience being held against my will, this room was not dark and abandoned. The bed smelled of freshly washed linens, the entirety of the room was pristinely white, and my bonds were not damp bandages but brand new leather straps, restricting my hands to my sides as opposed to above my head. Regardless of these changes, I was still bound to a body that was not my own.

What was happening? Where was I? Would I ever be free? I was consumed with a mixture of anger and dire sadness that held to me tighter than the straps that bound me. Rising from outside the door, voices gave me little relief from my thoughts. I determined they were those of doctors or nurses talking about the state of a patient under their care.

“He has gotten worse,” stated a woman with a shrill voice. “The line between real life and the realities he creates for himself has become virtually non-existent. Not only have the hallucinations increased, but he now is in a permanent state of depersonalization, he doesn’t even know who he is anymore.”

A man with a light tremor chimed in saying, “Will he be convicted?”

“I don’t see how he could be,” the woman replied. “I don’t think he even knows he killed him. And, if he does, I can guarantee you that he would not know who he was.”

There was a familiarity to these voices that I just could not place. Who was this patient? And who had he killed? The voices died down and I rested my head on the pillow, grieving for my own losses.

I did not struggle as I had before for my situation had a permanence that I couldn’t shake. I knew in my soul that I would be stuck like this forever, mentally separate from myself, hating the person I was, and not even recognizing whoever I was.  Lying in silence, I mourned the loss of my own self, both my mind and my body. A single tear rolled down my cheek and fell to rest at my side as I drifted into whatever reality awaited me beyond the stretches of my mind.