A Cognitive Experience
Krystin Fuller
Fiction
 
Upon the arrival of dawn, on a seemingly endless morning, just about the time of year where nights grow in relation to the shorten days, you are passing along, aimlessly, through your countryside trail; and at breadth find yourself, along with the rising of the sun and the chirrup of morning gales, within spectacle of a worn down shed, just inching from the town of Hinsdale. You feel an uneasiness set within the pit of your stomach- but, an uneasiness that you will soon override with curiosity, a curiosity that will mask your conscience telling you not to explore your increasing curious thoughts. You believe your curiosity is justified; for the feelings, which are, running throughout your brain, are overriding your sense of safety, a sense of safety the mind usually develops upon entering a scenario involving unexplored territory. You gaze at the shed before you- over the entire structure, and the flimsy wooden pieces, that mostly likely are meant to resemble walls- over the metal bindings, that seem to hold the wooden segments together- over the entire structure, when looked upon from afar, seems to mirror a resemblance pointing to an octagonal shape- and over an iron door knob, with seems to possess the distinction of a sketched away brain. You experience weariness, a closing of the throat, a sickening slowly descending to the pit of your stomach- a feeling so intense, but yet you convince yourself to explore further. What is this- something taking over the thoughts in your mind- convincing you to open the flimsy wooden shed, held together by aged, rotten wood? It was a discovery haunting your mind; a painted picture of a wooden shed, surrounded by vast layers of green, yellow, and brown nature, nature that made the wooden shed more appealing to you, acting as a guardian, holding your hand in the process of you inching closer to the shed’s handle. Evidently, you notice a change in the atmosphere around you, as you slowly ease closer to the handle; and while the mind has the tendency to create images that are not realistically there, you reassure yourself in believing that while all this is taking place around you, it merely is with the situation you calculated in your mind. Your clammy hand reaches for the handle, and all that appears before you now is the shed, no forest, nor trail, but a murky gray background appears, as though forcing you to upon the door, because after all your mind has told you nothing ceases to exist but the flimsy wooden shed before you. Nevertheless, the predicament you have composed yourself within, which by looking at the length of time since you ventured outside, seems to pass the two hour mark, it does not appear as long the instant fingertips touch handle. Its owner, Frederick Cleaver, becomes knowledge you were not aware of, a person, whose countenance elates itself into the sole of your mind, a slender fellow, with an evil secret. A question, however, develops from this character, who upon never meeting before, can be heard quite clearly, so clear in fact, you slowly inch your head around, expecting to see slender Frederick standing behind you. This thought gave you reason to become nervous, because the voice was so vivid, vivid, and distinct. Although, the thought you had unnerved your well being, you insisted on the continuation of opening the door, gently easing the handle to turn right, slowly and steadily; you did not want to risk opening the door too suddenly, for fear of what may lurk on the other side. You were aware of Frederick’s life; as you furthered the process of opening the shed, glimpses of childhood, warm scenes, Frederick gaily skipping countryside with his fellow schoolmates; happy thoughts. The accumulation of happy thoughts reassured you that you were doing the right thing, giving in to your curiosity. It was this picture, you considered, while replacing all the current thoughts set within your mind, and while assuming careless play will lead to happier times, to be the reason to finish the process of opening the door, the action, which in some way or another, seemed to evolve into a task. Brushing aside the voice of Frederick, in an attempt to finally open the shed, you open the shed before you letting your mind show you the next image Fredrick was attempting to show you. His friendly demeanor no longer seemed friendly, as troublemaker Johnny, who received his name from his teacher at school, forcefully pushed Frederick into a shed, existing in the exterior of a forest far from civilization, where for the past few months he remained until death struck him. Now, being relieved from the shed by your curious hand, his spirit is free to roam the open air, and as for you, you will endure the solidarity he has, until some curious soul ventures to open the shed door again.