head throbbed. My chest too. Out of breath, I curled into fetal position and begged for it to end.
Then the room silenced. Something creaked behind me. The floor. It opened up to reveal an ax covered in butterfly stickers with a message attached to it.
This was a personality test. You are an INFJ and we will use this information throughout the rest of your stay. But first, the only way you can be removed from this room is to take this ax and kill one of the reflections. When you do this the reflection of choice will no longer be a part of you. All memories, choices, and future effects will no longer exist. Choose wisely, as each one can drastically change your personality and ultimately, your life.
I held the ax and turned in a circle, analyzing each reflection of myself. I walked toward the last one I saw. Soaked hair and downcast face. My first choice would had been that one, but as I raised the ax something stopped me. Almost as though a hand touched mine and lowered it back to my side. I continued walking along the mirrors, looking into the eyes of every part of me. Every pain and joy that meant something to me.
Finally, I stood in front of eleven-year-old me with wispy hair and a sundress. The only one I ever had. Mother swooped my hair up in braids and put little flowers all over. For no reason. If you know my mother, you know that’s unheard of. It was a good memory. One I kept with me when I felt unwanted, but I could get rid of this one. I’d be okay.
I raised the ax and took a deep breath. Looking into the eyes of my content and happy self, I hesitated, looked around at the others, and lifted the ax again. One, two, three....
The glass shattered my reflection into a thousand fragments and a sound blasted, then Red appeared before me.
“You just killed the only part of you that experienced contentment,” he said. “Your life will feel a lot different now that you’ve never experienced that memory. You may be prone to depressive episodes, but I’ll help you through it all. Once you leave here”—he motioned toward the door that reappeared—“you will no longer remember this assignment or what happened while in here.”
I think, maybe, I blinked. I just wanted to go back home.
“Okay?” he tried again.
I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the earthquake radiating in my chest. I squeezed my arms and Red pulled me into his chest, put his arms around me, and stroked my hair.
“You’re not alone,” he whispered.
I buried my face in his shirt, hoping to not saturate him with tears. I held back, willing myself to calm down, then he said, “It’s okay to cry,” and I completely lost it. His arms tightened around me in the most gentle way possible as I emptied myself. Plenty of tears wet his shirt and mine as I squeezed him into me and forced every horrible emotion out of my heart. But I knew I’d walk out the door and never remember the moment. The one moment in my life where I let all of the pain wash out of me like a shower I needed for way too long. I’d never remember letting go. I’d never remember being cleansed.
And that made it even worse.
Seven
Emily stared at me while I stared at my food. After the meal we would attend some sort of strange dance where we were expected to socialize and be normal, but I couldn’t remember what I did in the morning and I found myself in random fuzzy memories that I couldn’t piece together. My head hurt so bad and it bothered me that Emily seemed just as fine as she was the day I met her. I could at least recall that day in full detail. Orange and black shirts like a butterfly. But why black for me? Why orange for Audrey?
“You sure you’re okay?” Emily poked her way into my thoughts.
“I don’t feel well. My head hurts and I can barely remember where I am sometimes.”
She continued eating, finished, and touched my arm. “You don’t look well at all. Are you sick?”
I picked up my
Then the room silenced. Something creaked behind me. The floor. It opened up to reveal an ax covered in butterfly stickers with a message attached to it.
This was a personality test. You are an INFJ and we will use this information throughout the rest of your stay. But first, the only way you can be removed from this room is to take this ax and kill one of the reflections. When you do this the reflection of choice will no longer be a part of you. All memories, choices, and future effects will no longer exist. Choose wisely, as each one can drastically change your personality and ultimately, your life.
I held the ax and turned in a circle, analyzing each reflection of myself. I walked toward the last one I saw. Soaked hair and downcast face. My first choice would had been that one, but as I raised the ax something stopped me. Almost as though a hand touched mine and lowered it back to my side. I continued walking along the mirrors, looking into the eyes of every part of me. Every pain and joy that meant something to me.
Finally, I stood in front of eleven-year-old me with wispy hair and a sundress. The only one I ever had. Mother swooped my hair up in braids and put little flowers all over. For no reason. If you know my mother, you know that’s unheard of. It was a good memory. One I kept with me when I felt unwanted, but I could get rid of this one. I’d be okay.
I raised the ax and took a deep breath. Looking into the eyes of my content and happy self, I hesitated, looked around at the others, and lifted the ax again. One, two, three....
The glass shattered my reflection into a thousand fragments and a sound blasted, then Red appeared before me.
“You just killed the only part of you that experienced contentment,” he said. “Your life will feel a lot different now that you’ve never experienced that memory. You may be prone to depressive episodes, but I’ll help you through it all. Once you leave here”—he motioned toward the door that reappeared—“you will no longer remember this assignment or what happened while in here.”
I think, maybe, I blinked. I just wanted to go back home.
“Okay?” he tried again.
I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the earthquake radiating in my chest. I squeezed my arms and Red pulled me into his chest, put his arms around me, and stroked my hair.
“You’re not alone,” he whispered.
I buried my face in his shirt, hoping to not saturate him with tears. I held back, willing myself to calm down, then he said, “It’s okay to cry,” and I completely lost it. His arms tightened around me in the most gentle way possible as I emptied myself. Plenty of tears wet his shirt and mine as I squeezed him into me and forced every horrible emotion out of my heart. But I knew I’d walk out the door and never remember the moment. The one moment in my life where I let all of the pain wash out of me like a shower I needed for way too long. I’d never remember letting go. I’d never remember being cleansed.
And that made it even worse.
Seven
Emily stared at me while I stared at my food. After the meal we would attend some sort of strange dance where we were expected to socialize and be normal, but I couldn’t remember what I did in the morning and I found myself in random fuzzy memories that I couldn’t piece together. My head hurt so bad and it bothered me that Emily seemed just as fine as she was the day I met her. I could at least recall that day in full detail. Orange and black shirts like a butterfly. But why black for me? Why orange for Audrey?
“You sure you’re okay?” Emily poked her way into my thoughts.
“I don’t feel well. My head hurts and I can barely remember where I am sometimes.”
She continued eating, finished, and touched my arm. “You don’t look well at all. Are you sick?”
I picked up my
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