Running, that's all I ever seem to do, run. Running away from things, running to them, running in general. After a while, you'd think I'd be sick of it, tired of running and wanting to stop. But here's the best part: I'm not.
Running is what seems to make me feel, alive and it heals my current mental state of never-ending confusion. But it didn't happen by choice; rather, it happened by fate.
I was stuck in solitary confinement for something I don't even remember. It seems to me that anything that happened there got erased from my memory. It was as if the people who run and own the place don't want any outsiders learning about them and their citadel of solitude. I don't have any other good explanation for it. Mind you, that's just my own theory, what really happens behind the wires was clearly completely confidential, only told on a need-to-know basis. Unless you’re clever, then you figured it out, and were taken somewhere else.
But there was someone I met there that I could never forget, even when they tried to make me forget anything from there, I couldn't. Something about her stuck with me, through the memories erased and whatnot, I always remembered her. I don't know what it was about her that made me remember her, but somehow I still can remember her to this day.
She said her name was Lilya, but for some reason that didn't stick with me, she sometimes went by Marie. I called her Lilya, nicknames and that were never my thing. She was my sort of cell mate, if I was in a cell, I don't remember.
Lilya would always tell me stories to pass the time; her emerald green eyes pierced my own dark brown and commanded my concentration and attention. She did seem a bit heart strong, per se; her heart seemed to rule her mind from time to time. When I told her this is how I felt, she laughed approvingly and brought up some madness about how she "wasn't human" and had "two hearts," which when I first heard her say, I was convinced I was in the Mental Hospital. But as time went on, it seemed that her madness was more fact than fiction. She truly wasn’t a human.
She never explained why we were in the same cell, but I'm glad we were now; otherwise I wouldn't remember anything from that place.
I'm getting off track.
Lilya's stories always seemed to dazzle and never disappoint. I can't recall much, but from what I do, they didn't require much imagination to picture. Maybe she was a rather good artist.
Lilya would tell stories of traveling with this mysterious man, I don't remember what she said his name was, but it had to do with a physician. Why would anyone want a name like Physician?
Back to the stories.
Lilya would tell stories of this man and her travels with him. Of all the places they went to and saw, and every creature they met, saved, and even fought.
Apparently, not everything she saw was all sunshine and daisies. Some were cruel and ruthless, wanting to cause Lilya and her physician friend harm and basically, do the same to the rest of humanity. Somehow, Lilya and her physician-friend avoided all this, and stopped said creatures from causing trouble.
Who was this physician friend of hers? I asked her quite often when she finished her story. Usually she would just shrug and start messing with her deep brown long hair, and I took that as an
I don’t want to talk about it sort of gesture. But one day, she proceeded to tell me:
He's unlike anyone I've ever met in the strangest and best way possible.