I seriously couldn't decide if it was a dream or not. It felt real, her voice felt real, the pain I felt from that monster felt real. I want to believe it's real but why am I in my tent? My sister would have been seen if she took me here, her presence alone could shake up this entire campsite. Let alone seen by George, he knows I miss her, but I don't think the appearance of my sister that was pale and thin to the point the outlines of the bones that structured her movements would keep him entirely quiet. I tried washing away the thoughts by doing any activity Lia or George recommended, I tried thinking of something else but the years that went on after her sudden missing looped me into a scattered reality of overthinking about where she would be. It was a secret I always tried hiding, the fact that I'm almost obsessed with searching for the missing answer from my sister. Obsession and desperation overflooded my mental state and reshaped the neurological nature of my brain just to think of this one single person.

And the thing is, although I put up a front, I knew it was gradually slipping, recklessly tearing away until my obsession blew up into glistening light to be watched by thousands of crowds on a broken wooden stage where grass fought an infinity war to win back its territory. The campsite was blossoming in enjoyment, I had many reasons to think of other things but my deluded mind reared itself back into the state of my sister. Why did it feel so real? I asked myself as I cupped my chin to rehearse the situation in my tent as I found a way to exclude myself from the campsite fun. My puzzled, long far away eyes stared back at me in the small rectangular mirror as I caressed my chin to take me back to that void memory. The more I thought, the more I felt the temperature of my hands fizzle into a sudden freezing attitude, I just couldn't stop thinking about it. My reflection became the puzzle pieces of my sister's reflection, her smile appealed to me as she brightened the entire room with the blueish eyes of hers - in a stalemate of looking to the reflection that wasn't the identity of myself, but the identity of a well-mannered sweetheart praised by the public.

While I, Aaron, vanished from sight and perished into an endless fortune of blackness; I didn't want to resist, something kept me tight on a rotten chain with ingrown seaweeds. My ears were blocked by the waves of shadow as bubbles escaped my unconscious self, I drifted deeper and deeper down this darkness that I never worried about and carried on losing my self-identity. The identity I wanted to live as was not myself, but another boy that wasn't so obsessed with his sister that it failed him to have any great interactions or long-term relationships and friendships. It was all delusions, I need to know its delusions, I've gone so deep inside myself that I became delusional and deranged. It couldn't be that I missed her too much, I knew it was something else. Nobody can be this delusional when they miss someone, it isn't possible.

Why do I keep believing that I miss her this much then? Why is it that I can only ask and not be answered? My mental crisis was crippling me, drowning me with familiar feelings I haven't felt in years. Why this forest? I rushed immediately to come to see my childhood memory but never thought of the consequences. The consequences of depression, an explanation I rarely use to describe my bad days - why did I come? All I've done was think of someone else and not myself. These thoughts kept on flooding around me, pouring in from holes that kept flickering the whiteness of outcry, it was thoughts I never thought of before interacting with her. And before I knew it, I was standing in front of a hunched boy with dyed blonde hair covering his face like he was previously punched in front of the cave I built by hand.

"The hell is wrong with you?!" The blonde yelled directly at me. Confused, I glanced around and glimpsed back at my tight fists that were severely bruised with redness. I shook my hands into an open flat gesture and backed away from the angered boy with raging eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to understand what happened.

"That's the first thing you fucking say after randomly punching me when I was generous enough to ask why a lunatic was standing outside this cave I explored?!" The boy roared, throwing a punch to my face. It looked slow and appeared slow, so why didn't I dodge it? The fist collided with my cheek and shocked me as pain overthrew my instinct. Panic should have swept me by now is what I thought, so why do I feel calm with a meter of anger that was quickly rising to the top? At least I should have apologised for randomly punching this innocent guy, but it's his fault. It's his fault, not mine. Why was it his fault again? No, it's all his fault! Reacting to the punch, by instinct, I threw a hard jab to the boy's face followed by a loud ring of a crack coming from his nose as blushes of blood tunnelled down from his snapped nose.

"UGH!" The boy squealed, having no chance to react as I uncontrollably threw quick punches at his vital areas. I watched him trip with agony while no emotions came to the top of my easy sympathetic self. He crumbled through the leaves as spewing blood misidentified his mutilated face that was coughing up portions of blood every minute. I didn't have any control of myself, the driving seat was taken over and somebody else took control of my vulnerable body. Calmness was all I felt, for some reason, someone like me who pukes at the sight of gore, was incredibly calm and collected. I felt overwhelmingly strong as I sat over this disfigured innocent boy, repeatedly punching his face that he was trying to block with his will while words that I didn't think of nor knew I was saying, repeated...

"It's your fault."