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Bobby and I, the narrator, had just landed from our long journey through my ill mind onto a somewhat noticeable mass of land. This mass was supposed to cure me they said. They said it was safe, those medical bastards. They will do and say anything to get money.

We got off the ship of my imagination; it was a smelly old ship, dark and musty, not the best place to be, just like my mind. So, in this case “we got off the ship” is not adequate, we tumbled off the ship. My companion and I began to walk through the dense forest looking for The Source; if we could find it I could be free of this madness.

The fog began to ooze in and I was squeezing Bobby's hand in fright for my life, for I am a selfish creature. I didn't know if we were going to make it out before they came. I heard the screams of some poor souls caught in the fog with the monsters. I had never seen these freaks of nature, but I had heard enough tales spun by the storyteller to know what they looked like. The natives on this land mass had dark brown skin almost black, eyes the same color of the black sludge that came out of the sewer pipe, their hair was black as pitch, and they were often abnormally tall.

I heard the leaves rustle; I turned, and saw one of them. It was a tall male with white paint in intricate designs covering his body. He was making, low, guttural noises, as a cat would when it saw its prey. In this case, we were the prey, my blood began to boil, we were the mighty ones, they could not scare us, but they already have I said back to the voice. I gave her one quick tug on the hand and we ran.

My leg burns from the time I fell. The pain weighs me down, I run faster than I thought possible, with my sort of injury. The ones who wear white told me I would never walk again. After the accident my brain did not function. I was a vegetable; the only thing that was keeping me alive was my sister, Bobby. She would sing and read to me. She would do anything to keep my mind active. Away from the darkness that was threatening us all.

I am here on a mission to expel the remaining darkness in my mind. Here on the land mass imagination becomes reality. My reality was about to get me and my sister killed. But I can’t live with that kind of guilt. Her death can’t be my fault. It will rip me apart. For my sake I have to keep her alive.

So we ran, away from the noises, away from the fog. We ran into a dark clearing in the trees thinking it would get us safely back to the shore but instead it led deeper into the forest. We turned around, but it was too dark to make out even the slightest shadow on the uneven ground. So I held tightly to Bobby’s hand and began to sing the songs our mother would sing to us, trying to comfort her and I, for us who dwell in the light are afraid of the dark.

As we continued I began to feel weightless, after a long while I noticed Bobby was gone. I didn’t know which way was up, I didn't know what to do. In complete despair I was trying to wring my own neck. For some reason it did not work I was panicking. “Please help me.” I screamed.

A hand broke through the pitch. I grabbed it. It was a cold hand. I started to feel vertigo. I assumed I was going upward.

My eyes are open now. I thrash around to see that my arms and legs are strapped down to a strange contraption; I think they call it a “bed”. The ones clothed in white cooed to me, attempting futilely to calm me down. I wailed and screamed for my sister. They told me she was lost in the mission and there was no way to retrieve her mind. They were going to shoot her they said. I tried desperately to break free from my bonds; I could feel the strange material beginning to give. Then one of them yelled, “put her to sleep.”

The next time I woke up my skin was burning and they were still there, they seemed to have lost their appeal, I used to think they cared for me, watched out for me, but now they have taken the only things I have left, my slowly slipping sanity, and my anchor otherwise known as my sister.

Later that day they brought me to the shell of my once great older sibling. And I lost it, they put a gun to her head and shot her, my mouth dropped open and I could taste my sister’s blood, feel the hot stuff running down my face. It was a warm metallic taste, the kind that sends your body flying in all directions as if possessed by a strange force. I jumped at the one with the gun. He shot me.

My eyes flew open and I screamed for my sister. An old man in a blue costume said, “You don’t have a sister,” long pause, “anymore.”

My mind was racing. He was right. I didn't have a sister. They shot her. But he was a liar. He told me that I had shot her, when I was drunk. This could not be true.

But it was, I remember that night, faintly, as if remembering a movie I had watched years ago, the loud crack of the gun, the recoil hitting me in the stomach, her blood running down my face in hot wet drips.

Why did I do it? Was I in a trance? As far as I knew I loved my sister, but my memory tends to leave out the things that I need to remember the most. Was there a reason? There were so many questions running through my mind. So many regrets. I died. My weak mind could not take the responsibility.