Max Journal 1: The Haunting of 'Max'

Posted on Wed Sep 18th, 2013 @ 8:00am by Admiral Maximilian 'Max' Hunter

960 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Tabula Rasa
Location: Max's Secluded Cabin

ON:

Max woke up in a sweat. He was breathing heavy and holding his chest. It was the same dream again. The same dream. The same face. The same haunting and yet alluring face. This woman has haunted his mind since he had arrived on this planet. He had no memory of how long he had been here, but he knew he needed to get away from everyone else. Being awoken in a crowd of faces he did not recognize, his first instinct was be to run off and figure things out without the noise. It almost felt familiar to him, the solitude.

He got up and out of bed, going through his usual routine whenever he had one of those dreams. Max walked to the bathroom and washed his face, closing his eyes to hold onto the image. A quick look the mirror at his reflection didn’t help much either, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes and hair. His beard and scars. None of it was familiar to him. None of them triggered any memory whatsoever.

Max finally walked over to his studio, what was mainly just a desk and candles, and began to sketch. He never understood who he was sketching. None of it seemed to trigger anything, but this face. This beautiful and haunting face, seemed to play an important part in his life that his mind just didn’t want to forget it. He drew the length and thickness of the hair. The fullness of the lips. The seductive and affectionate look in the eyes. All of which he captured with just a paper and pencil. The detail was so good that it even amazed himself from time to time.

It took him about an hour or so to finish it. Max slowly leaned back and stared at it, asking the same questions in his mind that he always asked. It didn’t make any sense to him. None of this did. He rolled he sketch up and tucked it away, into the draw of sketches he did prior to this one, and leaned back again with a sigh. His mind filled with questions. His dreams didn’t make any sense. Who was he? Where did he come from? Was he the only one who couldn’t remember, or was there more? He took out another piece of paper and just started to write.

He wrote:
It has been four days since I have woken up on this planet, a planet with no name and no familiar face to it. Nothing but a world of broken buildings and broken memories. Everything I see is new to me, but I don’t understand why? All this should hold something to me, but there is nothing but empty space and mental strain. Why can’t I remember? WHY? How long have I been here? Where is here? Who is this woman that haunts me in my dreams? Who is she to me? A mother long since gone? A wife whom I lost to this forgotten world? Or just a secret love I have yet to find? I find myself in a world full of questions and no means of answering them. Faces. Faces I don’t recognize and memories. Memories I can’t seem to recall.

Max paused and closed his eyes. Just asking these questions made his head hurt all over again. He just took in another deep breath and continued to write, hoping something would come out in his writing.

Why does all this seclusion seem so right to me? I lock myself away in a home I have never been in. With furniture I have never used, but has been here for longer than I can remember. Was this place mine? Why are there no pictures? Why is this place all so new to me, but appears so old? All those people, beyond the woods and in the building I first woke up in, are all so different but still so new. I don’t seem to recognize any of them. Do they recognize me? I didn’t stick around to find out on the first night I woke up, it just seemed right to run. I didn’t give them time to find out, but a part of me felt like keeping myself from them was much more… more… more comfortable than putting myself out in the open. Why do I feel that way? Why do I find it easier to hide then to stay around people who might hold the answers to the questions I can’t stop asking? Why is my first instinct with someone who knocks innocently at my door a reaction of violence and hostility? What do I have to hide? Why is it important to hide? What secrets do I hold? Am I responsible for all of this? Is it shame, not fear that drives me away? Is the woman whose image that I hold onto a part of this conspiracy? Did she help me at the cost of her life? Am I torturing myself? WHY… CAN’T…. I… REMEMBER???

He let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the pencil on the table, then threw the page onto the floor. Max looked over to the wall, covered in pictures. These pictures were all sketches. Sketches of the same face he had just finished draw an hour ago. This faceless woman. This haunting and attractive woman. This face with no name, but meant too much for him he couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t forget her, but he also couldn’t remember.

OFF:

Admiral Maximilian ‘Max’ Hunter
Interim Chief of Intelligence/ SFI Special Ops
U.S.S. Calypso

 

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