[ WP ] The protagonist slowly realizes that he is not at all part of the actual story .

A quiet buzz and fluorescent lighting filled the white room. No color, no bed, just a white room floor to ceiling, the white only broken by myself. My arms bound to my back with sleeves and buckles. The room is my world, and the white walls seldom remain as white. I can see through the wideness of the great cosmos from my one small speck of a corner. The world, it decays, it changes, people live and people die. I can not begin to explain the feeling, but i see a world of my own design, i am a god among the white walls, i make the world and the paths for my beings... but why do they not pray to me? Why would they not give praise to the man that built them? Could i have seen a world, populated it and forgotten how... or what it is to be human? Is this world going to decay like the prison of my physical form? How can one being be... meaningless? Does nothing I do matter in this physical world or my own world? How can i be so useless now? 
 
 The buckles clink as I rise to my feet. I hear my physician coming down the hall to my white world, I grow fearful as he often takes my world away from me, leaving me stranded in the world where i do n't matter. The steps grow closer, the door opens to the physician, and two men behind him. There here to take my world away, and it saddens me to see my people go, but they must do what they must do i suppose. I stare at my white world as my people fade out of existence, the paths that they once took turn to the white stone tile. I am nothingness, locked in a cell for sharing my world with others. The world around me goes black, my eyes shut and i fall back. Its all sleep from here on out, and my world is dead, and my prison... it continues to decay around me. 
 
 
 -The schizophrenic view
