Sanity

Sanity

The clock slowly ticking inside my head weighed me down. It had been over an hour since I had arrived on time for my appointment; yet, I was still waiting. I did not have long—any minute now, my heart would cease to beat. That was why I was here: for my Body Restoration Procedure. A procedure I had been waiting long for.

I sent in a request for my BRP about six years ago. This procedure was limited for only those who are mentally sane. And… not many are mentally sane, at least not anymore.

At 83 years old, I have seen many things, many deranged things. Society has gone mad, insanely mad. At first, I doubted this procedure. Uploading your consciousness into a younger artificially-designed human body? That is insanity. And why would I ever need to live longer than 83 years? But, I learned about my daughter only ten years ago. I needed more time.

“Bruce Winston?” the front-desk lady called out. She was young and beautiful, like my daughter.

“Yes, that’s me,” I rasped. I slowly rose from my seat and limped. The lady from the front-desk quickly jumped out of her seat to help me walk into the procedure room.

She instructed me to lie down on the gurney and wait for the BRP specialist, and so I did. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, hoping I would fall asleep and wake up all brand new; however, the specialist entered the room less than a minute later. I opened my eyes and raised my upper body from the bed.

“Mr. Winston, I am Doctor Plum. I will be performing your Body Restoration Procedure today,” the doctor said.

Doctor Plum flipped a page, and then began to read off a script. “Before we proceed, I need your verbal agreement to the following terms. First, you will be placed under deep anesthesia, during which your consciousness will enter a simulated state—somewhat similar to that of a dream. This state may include disorienting or nonsensical experiences. Second, when you awaken, the process will temporarily destabilize your neural pathways, leaving your mind in a state of irrationality and derangement. This instability will require you to be held in a controlled environment for your safety—standard protocol includes confinement in a padded cell.”

 Doctor Plum flipped the page again, and my heart began to beat faster. “Third, there is a risk—12%, based on our latest data—that the procedure could result in irreversible cognitive disarray. In simple words, you may lose the ability to differentiate between what is real and what is imagined. While rare, this outcome has been documented in previous cases. Finally, once your consciousness is successfully transferred, you may experience an initial rejection of your new identity. We refer to this as Cognitive Dissociation Syndrome. It manifests as an intense desire to return to your previous state, though this fades as your mind acclimates. By agreeing to these terms, you acknowledge that we cannot guarantee complete restoration of your original mental state. Do you consent to proceed?” he said. His words sunk me into a pit of discomfort. I had heard those terms before, yet now it was all becoming reality.

“Yes, Doctor. I consent,” I replied with a shaky voice. Doctor Plum nodded in response. He walked up to the bed and examined me as if he were holding a magnifying glass up to a breadcrumb. When he finished, he quickly surveyed the table standing next to me. On the same table, there was equipment for the procedure, an empty syringe and a small beaker containing bright blue liquid among surgical equipment.

“I will now begin. Please lie back down and close your eyes,” Doctor Plum instructed. I lay back, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath again.

It hit me like a tidal wave. I felt the doctor putting something over my nose and mouth, a mask. As I was breathing in, I began to feel drowsy and felt my consciousness begin to slip.

Colors swirled before my eyes—neon colors, the type that hurt to look at. The colors made out two words:

PEANUT BUTTER

A distorted and slowed version of that one circus song, “Entrance of the Gladiators,” played in the background. I was riding a unicycle but I felt seasick at the same time. Then, I vomited, but my body doesn’t really vomit. I only felt as if I had. I didn’t have a body. WAIT— WHERE IS MY BODY?

My body is missing, I need to find it. My eye catched a figure running along the fields ahead of me. It was a rabbit, a white rabbit. I must follow the white rabbit to find my body. “Hey Rabbit, wait up!” I said to him, but he didn't hear.

The Rabbit continued to run away as he mumbled to himself. “I’m late, I’m late, to a very important date,” he sang.

I ran after him, but he was gone. How would I find my body now? Damn that rabbit, he has stolen my most sacred treasure.

I looked around, in case there was still any trace of him; but, all I could find was a hole in the ground. A rabbit hole! He must’ve gone in there! I jumped down into the rabbit hole, and vomited again.

The vomit floated around me as I fell. Yuck! Seasick on a unicycle? Have I gone mad? Have I gone insane like everybody else in the world?

All I felt was peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, so I yelled. I screamed so loud, but no one heard a thing. How will I get this peanut butter off the roof of my mouth? No! No! No! This was the worst day of my life. I was riding a unicycle seasick, a rabbit stole my body, and peanut butter got stuck to the roof of my mouth.

This is absurd. Who has taken over my mind? I still have my body, I am not seasick. There is no rabbit. I have no peanut butter in my mouth.

What are you talking about, old man? This is the worst day of my life. Now get out of here!

This is my mind! You’re an intruder, you shouldn’t be here! What even are you? You have no body and no voice, but I still sense you.

The rabbit stole my body! And what are you? You’re an old man who is dying! Get out, geezer!

You?! You’re my replacement?! They took my sanity to replace me with you! I should’ve let myself die.

What are you talking about?

I did a procedure. A Body Restoration Procedure. They are transferring my consciousness into a younger body. They said I will have a dream, an uncomfortable dream. This is it, this is the dream. This is how I will die, and you will replace me.

I laughed at the old man’s crazy story. Oh, old man, it really is time for you to die. You’re talking some crazy nonsense!

I want to go back. I want to be old again. I want to be an 83 year old dying man. I don’t need you to replace me. Please! Let me out! LET ME OUT!

I finally landed at the bottom of the rabbit hole, and the old man talking nonsense was gone. Must’ve been part of my imagination. I walked through the door in front of me, entering a white padded cell.

A ticking clock played in my head. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. “I WANT OUT!” I yelled, but I doubt anyone heard. I moved towards the wall and began smashing my head against it, slowly going faster and faster.

“I. WANT. OUT.” I shouted. I tried to bring my hands to my face, but they were trapped inside a contraption. They had locked me inside like an animal.

The white walls seemed to start to close in around me, their padded surface absorbing every scream. I could hear faint whispers now, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. They weren’t voices I recognized, but they knew me. They knew every thought and every fear I had.

“Welcome to the Fold,” one said.

“Another one joins,” giggled another.

I shut my eyes, hoping to drown them out, but the whispers dug deeper into my skull. “This isn’t real. It’s just the dream. It’s just the dream,” I murmured to myself.

But then I felt it—a sharp pain all throughout my body. My eyes opened suddenly to see them: shadowy figures with no faces. Their limbs stretched unnaturally, fingers like needles reaching toward me.

“Sanity is a lie,” one hissed. Its voice was sharp, slicing through my thoughts. “We all gave it up. You will too.”

I shook my head violently. “No! I’ll wake up and be new and whole!” I screamed, though my voice cracked under the weight of my panic.

“You’re already awake, Bruce,” another figure said with a distorted laugh. “You’ve been awake the whole time.”

My heart stopped. The padded walls flickered, replaced by an endless void. Neon words floated in the abyss again:

PEANUT BUTTER

They expanded and burst like fireworks, leaving me in darkness. The whispers faded, replaced by the rhythmic ticking of a clock—my clock.Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I remembered the clock in my head. I thought my life was running out, counting down to the moment I had left. But now, I realized it wasn’t counting down. It was keeping time in a world that no longer made sense.

The padded walls returned, but something had changed. I looked down and saw a reflection in the polished floor—a younger man, pristine and perfect. My face, my features—they were not mine. They were his. I was a stranger now.

“See? You’re one of us,” the whispers said. “Madness is clarity. We all understand now.”

“No!” I cried, slamming my head against the walls again, but it didn't stop the truth from clawing its way into my mind. They weren’t insane. I wasn’t insane. We were all the same. The procedure wasn't about restoration. It was about enlightenment—a cruel, twisted enlightenment that stripped us of everything we knew.

And in that moment, I stopped resisting. My body went still. The ticking clock in my head grew louder, filling every crevice of my mind until there was nothing left but its perpetual rhythm.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Welcome,” the voices said in unison. “You’re finally free.”

And I laughed—a deep, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the cell. It wasn’t funny, but I couldn’t stop. I laughed because they were right. They had all been right. Madness wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.

A door—previously hidden in the white padded walls—opened, a familiar man stepped through. “Bruce Winston, you’re free to go,” he said.