Forge Netting 3: Blanking

He awoke. The room seemed anonymous – of the things around him, the

only thing that seemed vaguely familiar was the bedspread. He did not

own the reflection in the mirror and all the pictures that dotted the

walls were people felt no connection to whatsoever. He itched at the

crusty blood all over his top lip, was momentarily concerned about it,

and then forgot all about it.

He seemed unable to hold a thought in his head. He would look at

something, have some vague notion begin to assemble itself, and then

the passage of time would take its delicate structure apart.

This, he thought, is what it is like to have no past. This is what it

is like to not really have a future either. The thin edge of present

time was, for him, one breath to the next – an empty ride through

hollow meaningless transitions of light and shadow.

A drug that damaged his brain. Brain damage that had rendered the

embedded technology useless. A desire to forget that had wiped him

out.

The ansaphone message had little resonance because he did not know the

person of whom they were talking. He knew not of the drug which they

talked about. A vague vagarie. He smiled like an absent minded idiot –

not a care in the world to trouble.

He had not really suspected that doing this program would see him cut

loose from any causal chains that had forged his personality. He did

not think that it would set him adrift without any real tools to

regain the footing he had once had. And he had not believed that it

would relieve him of the faintest desire to want to bring himself

back, to think about himself, to just not care about anything.

He was not thinking that the fact that he had dropped out of

communication with those that were monitoring him would bring them to

his door. Concerns were a thing of the past or the future, but both

those things, all those things, they were totally alieen to him.

When he walked out into the street everything seemed pristine and new,

and he in some ways was equally purged of anything that had once held

him back, held him down, or affected him. The freedom was of no

significance because there was no consciousness in it; no real

thought or feeling for anything either way.

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