Member-only story
A Memory Manhunt
As you read this story I need you to understand one thing, my mental state on which this story is written holds no bearing on the way I was raised. I have always been told I would never know myself until I found myself. It has taken me a long time to grip my reality but once I had, I wasn’t sure I liked whom I had become.
My name is Mitchell Rathburn, but you can call me Rath. I have had a long road of desperate attempts at freedom but this is by far my hardest. Reading this manifesto may cause some judgment on your behalf but please keep in mind, this is my story and how I came to be.
As I awoke to the hovering caws of circling vultures above, my head ached with a vengeance. I had no recollection of how I had come to be in this desolate area of pine, but I felt worried less about the where and more about the condition I was in. Observing my surroundings, my vision was blocked by the dense forage. Struggling to my feet, I wiped myself off and began to nurse my disheveled mind. As I listened for signs of life, I was quickly disappointed at the sole sounds of birds and my breathing. Feeling the panic set it I began to attempt control over my pulse and make sense of this unfortunate reality.
Scouring what few pockets I had, I was only able to recover my reliable Swiss Army Knife. With all other pockets empty, my body was encompassed by the frigid air. I began…
