The sharp tinnitus pierced the chaos. It was not the smell of disinfectant, but the smell of salty sea water, mixed with the sweet and greasy aroma of crab roe, which made my chest feel tight.
I opened my eyes suddenly, and what I saw was not the familiar mental hospital ward, but a mottled yellow wall. The wall was full of irregular holes, and my fingertips felt a rough fiber texture - this was not a wall, but more like the inner wall of some huge fruit. Beneath him is a soft but sticky "bed", covered with faded checkered cloth. In the corner are piled a few square pants that have been washed white, and a short-sleeved shirt with pink flowers printed on it. There is a dark red stain on the collar, which is like dried blood, but darker than blood stains.
The headache is still tearing at my nerves, and the fragments of memory are colliding wildly. On one side is the white cage of the mental hospital, the doctor's cold eyes, and the diagnosis of "split personality" in the notebook. On the other side is the unfamiliar salty smell, the weird yellow space, and a vague voice hovering in my mind: "You have been chosen, the chosen one."
