Which Am I?

I could see nothing but the constant pulsation of the nothingness around me. It seemed somehow ironic: For some reason, I felt that there should have been a bit more light.

But where was I? Hadn’t I been thinking in my room just a moment ago? Why was I here in the first place? And why hadn’t these been the first thoughts to arrive to my head? Of course, the answer to the last question was that I already knew the answers to the first three: First of all, I had been in my room previously—that was obvious enough, since my room was the only place I ever was; and oddly enough, I was within my mind. (I would not have known this if my mind wasn’t capable of recognizing itself.)

And the reason I was here was the man who was suddenly materializing before me.

The first thing I noticed about him was that he looked exactly like me: the same glasses, the same frail frame, the same tiresome complexion—the look of one who works more than he ought to.

And yet, the second thing I noticed about him was how different he was from me. The biggest thing was that he looked more like an embossed figure in the shadow than an actual human. His appearance was similar to that of a photo negative: an undeveloped image of me.

And then there was the grin on his face: It wasn’t quite sinister, but it wasn’t merely mischievous, either. I didn’t really know how to dub that expression, what characteristics to pin to the man who wore it. Did he intend to harm me? Did he mean to tell a twisted joke? I felt I should know this! Who was this man who was so similar yet so different from me at the same time?

And then the grin opened up, and the man spoke:

“You probably think this is your mind, don’t you?” I was surprised—the voice was almost seductive in its tone, and it felt like a whisper right next to my ear rather than the thunderclap from afar I had almost been expecting.

Absorbed in this contemplation, I didn’t answer at first. Then my thoughts reached a painful tangent: What if this almost-evil man before me was a part of me? No, it wasn’t merely a thought—it was an absolute.

I stopped; I was suddenly aware of a great pain—a throbbing pain, like a migraine of the heart. I knew it well. I was far too familiar with the feeling: the strain of thinking too much.

But it was different than usual—the pain not only suffocated me from within, but also bound me from without, and that was what caused me to stop. I cracked my eyes open as I let the hurt ease away. At the top of my vision, I thought I saw the man flicker.

I realized that I had been asked a question; I brought my gaze up to meet the image’s eyes (which I now realized were a strange red hue, like blood), and opened my mouth to answer.

“No need to respond, my horrifically fantasy-prone friend,” he interrupted. “I know that you, of course, do; after all, you can feel your thoughts here.”

He was speaking the very things I was thinking—which, granted, was a feasible concept when the things I was thinking were floating around in space, as they would in my mind.

The whisper sounded again: “This place is your mind and your soul.”

The revelation left me dumbfounded…then ponderous…then a bit excited: “I have stabilized the bond between my mind and my soul, then,” I thought aloud—or perhaps just thought; it was hard to tell in here. Either way…

“Foolish boy.” The twistedly jovial tone in the man’s voice was fading into a more reproaching one, and I knew immediately that he had a problem with the thought process I had just expressed. “The bond between your mind and your soul has always been stable. What your endeavors have achieved is an extreme melding of their fibers—idiocy! To think about your feelings and to feel your thoughts to the degree that you have brought yourself to—it is unsafe! It is foolish!”

“Wait.” I spoke up for the first time; my voice seemed to be echoed throughout the space, and I realized how much stronger my thoughts sounded than my words. “Who are you? Who do you think you are to dictate my morals like this?”

“You don’t know, of course.” The grin was back immediately. “Obviously, if you can’t discern between what you believe and what you know, you will never be able to understand.

“I am the result of your misguided achievements: I am the you that you buried within yourself long ago in order to make yourself ‘perfect’. I am the Josh whose growth you halted so you could ‘give life your all’, ‘become a better person’, ‘spread your wings’.” He shook his head. “Pitiful fool you are, ‘Barty’. I had been spreading our wings for a long time; if only you had had the patience…”

It was spectacular: A pair of wings erupted from Josh’s back—bright and innocent from the shadow he was sewn to. I felt suddenly humbled, and I realized that all he had told me was true: that I had strayed off the path intended for me—and just before I had reached its climax, to boot. What kind of hurry had I been in to grow up? No answer came to me from my surroundings. I was beginning to feel more and more detached from them.

“I trust you realize it: I belong on the outside, and you have all along been meant to remain as a pondering of this mind.” Josh pulled an arm away from the shadow behind him and tapped his temple to emphasize his words, his grin now bordering on sinister. I think he knew I was in pain. I think he was enjoying it. I think he was happy to pain the one who had pained him with this dark. But what did I know?

“In any case, it’s time for you to do one more favor for yourself,” said Josh. “You must make the decision of who you are.”

My eyes widened. He was asking me to make the choice I had struggled with for months, and how was I supposed to have any better luck with it now than before?

Still no answers came.

“It’s not as complicated as you’ve made it,” the man said in a mockingly reassuring voice. “Just tell me which I am to be: your mind or your soul.”

Silence permeated the nothingness as I conflicted even stronger with myself. My mind or my soul? It was a question that had led me to bring them to a supposed equilibrium in the first place.

I had run from that question the first time. That was why I was here.

But how could I decide now?

Nothing.

The pain came back, stronger than before, and I realized that, as always, I was thinking too much; the nothingness was throbbing painfully, and Josh was flickering at the top of my vision—or maybe it was my vision itself flickering. I couldn’t tell; everything else was already dark.

“It would’ve been much easier if you had answered it the first time, eh, ‘Barty’?” He was controlling the urge to laugh at me, it seemed.

I looked up at him and noticed that his image was blurry. I suppose there must’ve been tears in my eyes.

“I don’t know.” It was the only thing I could say.

Everything froze.

Except for Josh.

He frowned sorrowfully and closed his wings.

“A pity,” he mourned. “And to think, I could’ve been so much more, but I had to be a part of you.”

The scene faded, and I opened my eyes to find myself in my room.

All I wanted to do was close them again.