Information

Sequela has a minion!

the Dead Person

Sequela
Legacy Name: Sequela

The

Bloodred Harvester
Owner:

Jen

Age: 16 years, 6 months, 1 week

Born: October 21st, 2007

Adopted: 14 years, 2 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: February 6th, 2010

Pet Spotlight Winner
June 13th, 2010

Statistics

Level: 40
Strength: 100
Defense: 100
Speed: 100
Health: 100
HP: 100/100
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

Sequela

A pathological condition resulting from a prior disease, injury, or attack.
Verbatim from the Latin "sequela " meaning sequel.

Sequela, sequela, sequela. I've heard this word so often the past few days, or weeks... I'm not sure anymore... and I don't even know what it means. Sequela. Is that my name? I'm hearing it so often it might as well be.

You're probably wondering why I would even ask that, right? "Ha, is that your name. Don't be ridiculous." Well I'm not being ridiculous, I really don't know. That's right, I don't even know my own name. I have what the doctors are calling "psychogenic amnesia". Before you ask, I don't even know my own name let alone what happened to me to put me in here or even where I'm from.

It's been three weeks since I last wrote. The doctors said it might help recover my memory. It's recovering something alright. To be honest, I'm a little scared to write anymore in case it triggers more of these flashes I've been having. Whatever these flashes are I don't think I want to remember and I'm definitely not telling the doctors about them. I'm pretty sure they already think I'm crazy – why else are they keeping me here? Sure, I still can't remember my name but I'm healthy. Almost perfectly. There must be something more to it... But it can't be these flashes. No, can't have anything to do with them; they can't be anything more than a figment of my imagination. A crazy, disturbing figment of my imagination... I wonder what they mean...

I see me, but with pitch black eyes. Eyes which should be terrifying to look at except they're not... They're enticing and they even have a sparkle to them. I have to admit, this vision of me looks a little crazed. And that has nothing to do with the enormous meat cleaver I'm wielding. Or with the blood dripping from it...

It's been another two weeks since I last wrote. My flashes have turned into nightmares. That sequela word is still being tossed around and yes, that means I'm still here in the hospital. I've been poked and prodded to no end. I've started seeing psychologists, counsellors, psychiatrists and therapists to try and recover my memory. None of it's working though. They keep telling me I should continue writing. I'm just grateful they haven't asked to read it yet...

It's like an out of body experience. It's like I'm hovering over myself but the psychotic-crazed me. The one with the giant cleaver and blood. So much blood. It's absolutely everywhere. My dress is red so I don't look too much of a mess, thankfully.

That's when I see it. Body parts flung about everywhere. Dead bodies. More blood. I feel nauseous just remembering this and even more so in the dream. Yet the crazed-me stands there, smiling. With a twinkle in her eyes...

Maybe I should tell them about these dreams... No, I think it might be safer to work it all out for myself first...

It's almost been eight years since I last wrote. I'm finally allowed to use a pen and paper again. I must be on my way to getting "better".

My name is not Sequela, that's just one of the conditions I've been suffering. My name is Michaela and I'm now 24 years old. I've been in a psychiatric hospital for the past 8 years. You know, one of the ones with the padded white walls. Apparently, it was likely I'd try to hurt myself like I did all those people. All those people...

I was only 16. They tell me I had been kidnapped by a serial killer. They still won't say what happened to me and I don't remember any of it. I survived whatever happened. But shortly afterwards I snapped. They say I suffered a psychological "sequela". Psychosis, mania, aggression, personality changes and post-traumatic stress, I went through a lot. I still can't remember any part of the experience. I've suppressed the memory, apparently. I hope they don't get me to try and dig it up. Just the images I remember of my dreams is enough to turn my stomach. I don't want to even imagine what I was capable of doing in that state.

I didn't have to stand trial. They say I lacked 'mental capacity' and didn't have the necessary intention for murder even if I did. Instead, I got locked away here and will remain here until the court decides otherwise. Who knows how long that will be. It's been 8 years and only now am I "capable of using a pen". It looks like it will be quite some time...