I Don't Know Any of You

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Inspired by one of my favorite subjects: Prosopagnosia.


For whatever reason, be it fate or some cruel joke from life itself, I am unable to escape this time loop. It’s the same conversation, and the same events. Over and over, they repeat endlessly with no end in sight. Who are these people, and why should I care about any of them? Their faces are only mildly familiar, but the feeling is fleeting and ever fading day by day. They know nothing of what it’s like to open my eyes, and realize I’m still me. I am me, living this time again and again. Stay away from me! Stop claiming to know my name. You mean nothing to me. You mean nothing to me, you faceless monsters. Your voices become static in the wind, a deteriorating sound being transmitted by unknown forces, tying me down to repeat this over and over. I don’t care that you, yes, YOU, are happy or sad. I don’t share your feelings, I don’t care if you improve or worsen your conditions. I only want to escape from this looping death-this nightmare- holding me back. Let me out. Let me out of here, I said!

I don’t know any of you people. Your faces have faded with time, and I care very little to recover their images. Your spirits have been long since abandoned by whoever I used to be, whatever I may have been and who I have become. Never fancied myself as a philosopher or intellectual, but I’m smart enough to stay away from you. All of you. Leave me the hell alone. Leave me alone, I don’t know you and you most certainly don’t know me. Pretenders and liars, opportunists and weasels. Backstabbers, traitorous scum. I don’t know any of you. Stop saying my name. Stop pretending you know who I was. They try to trick me, you see. They show me mirrors, try to show me my own face, and there’s nothing there. There is nothing in the mirror, just a faceless lump of pulsating flesh, constantly bleeding out. You all tell me I’m sick, that I need help. I say you’re the sick ones. The monsters. The liars. The liars. All of you, down to every last hair, are nothing but liars. I have a face, but you don’t.

I need to go away for good, to escape from these people. These people I never knew, these people I don’t know. I don’t want to see them, talk to them. No, not ever again. I have to leave far, far away. To be in peace and quiet, away from the faceless.


Submitted: March 08, 2018

© Copyright 2022 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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