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Truthfully, Who Are You?

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You are you. You are unique. There is no one else completely alike you.

You look in the mirror, you see you. You have a consciousness. But, truthfully, who are you?

This question stalked my mind for days on end. Philosophy is some kind of evil to me now.

I woke up in a large stretch of land. It was dark, but the sky was bright, even though it cast no light on the environment. The black horizon stretched off for miles. I was completely devoid of memory. Only a single thought rang in my head: Who am I?

In all my life, I finally understood what this question was: I knew what it felt like to be nobody. I literally didn't exist. I was an unnamed man. The grass-covered ground beneath my feet absorbed my shoes. If I had any on. My body was a ghost. A mist. I was nothing.

The men wore Balacavas masking their identities. They mumbled something in a strange language I couldn't understand. The dead innocents around me lie in pools of blood, the windows of the bank shattered. I was tied to a chair, I could feel rashes and bruises as I was recently beat with rifle stocks. I was untied, hoisted up, and brought outside into the bright daylight were several vans await. I was too weak to resist, to the men around me, I was nothing.

The black stretch of land was comforting yet horrifying at the same time. I felt free, even though distressed by the question in my head. I moved my muscles, they were surprisingly stiff, but I managed. I walked around, getting used to the conditions.

I was neither hot or cold. The temperature was at a medium, which I was glad for. I picked a random spot which I sat in. That's when the images started rolling in.

I was panicked. These men were trying to kill me. They plunked me down into one of the beetle cars behind the vans. One of the men spoke to me, though in very bad English. "Drive into the police station. 30 minute. Or family dies." I was panicked by the sound of ticking in the back of the car, I saw sticks of clay-like substances strapped to timers, filling the back seats. I couldn't escape. I was completely strapped to the drivers chair, the only thing I could do was obey.

I was confused. I have no idea what that was. It felt like a different man, although I knew it was me. Then I noticed something peculiar. The crimson sky had transitioned to a sickly green color. Who was I? I was a man. It was pretty obvious. During the images, my own morals had not been questioned. The question was blocked by the ticking of clocks. Clocks, ticking down to my death. People were trying to kill me. Me. My unique personality, so they can get their deluded benefits. Twisted.

My hands sweat around the leather steering wheel. I was told to follow the van. So I did. I was such an idiot. I was going to kill innocent people. So I drove. Gunfire shrouded my sense of hearing, and the only thing I saw was the road through the grungy windshield. I couldn't believe this was happening. I felt odd: No emotion for the people I was being driven to kill. The only reason that I wasn't shot at the bank was that they needed some guy to play hero, so they can spare their own lives.

Who am I. I have consciousness. I have dreams, I have goals...but not here. This was limbo. I was in nonexistance. I still never figured out who I was...What happened to me? I lay on the grass, weeping in self-pity. I somehow knew, that I, the other I in the visions, still had a tiny sliver of hope left.

The police station was coming up, the digital timer in the back seat read 00:00:50. I had little time. If I hit the police station, at least I would kill authorities who knew the risks of their work. Better than waiting for the bomb to go off and kill the people in the cars around me. The decision was final. The last choice I was about to make would determine who I was.

But it didn't. I am here, but I used to be there. Reminds you of how time flies. The sky was almost completely black, and I felt alone. No one was going to help me. I was watching the end of my own life unravel.

The station was on front of me, timer reading 00:00:10. But I had a better idea. I rear-ended the van on front of me as fast as I could, and saw blood splatter on the back windows. The compacted van was immobile. The men on the front seats got out and fired their rifles at me. I felt a sharp pain as the bullet entered my gut. I had 5 seconds left. I grinned. These people were stupid enough to be on front of me. I ran my car into them one last time, killing one of them and injuring the other. One second left, the van looked like a scrapyard after ramming it.

I was watching it end. The answer is revealing itself, I was so close.

I barely saw the sparks fly over my shoulder as the bombs detonated, destroying the vans driven by the terrorists.

I'm here now. In the nothingness. I know who I am, but the question is...

Who are you?

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