In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and winding rivers, there lived a man who spent his days perched upon a weathered wooden chair on the front porch of his modest cottage. His eyes, a mirror to the vast expanse of his thoughts, gazed blankly into the distance as if searching for something just beyond the edge of his consciousness.

The man's mind was a void, a vast emptiness that seemed to swallow up any stray thought or fleeting emotion that dared to cross its threshold. He sat there, unmoving, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the bustling village around him.

Neighbors passing by would stop and exchange fleeting greetings with the man, but he hardly registered their presence. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts and memories.

Some said he was a dreamer, a man who had wandered too far into the recesses of his own mind and had lost his way back to reality. Others whispered that he was haunted by ghosts from his past, memories that clung to him like shadows in the fading light of day.

But the man paid them no mind. He remained on his chair, a silent sentinel guarding the threshold between the known and the unknown, his gaze fixed on a horizon only he could see. And there he sat, lost in the vast emptiness of his mind, a solitary figure in a world that seemed to have forgotten him.

The man wasn't truly alone he had his mind, his thought, and his memories.

The man held knowledge so mundane, it was considered common sense, and the man held knowledge so archaic that it had been lost to time.

He knew everything and nothing at the same time. His mind wasn't a void it was full to the brim, he held more knowledge than one single person could hold. And he was suffering the consequences.

At times he had moments of clarity, were he recognized his surrounding. Sometimes he was so far gone that he couldn't tell the difference between, today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

And so he sat, alone in his mind surrounded by people.

I screwed up. Let me give you some background--- my name is Wilson Garwik, a pretty human sounding name but we do not belong here. Many people refer to us as aliens, I like the term "visitors", from another space and time we came, to Earth.

We found this man, in agony that he was so full of complex thoughts, empathy for emotions that didn't exist in the dictionary, conspiracies and belief in the metaphysical. He was close, so close to travelling to a place away from this Earth, a place much nicer than here. Any person he tried talking to looked at him like he was crazy, they called the man immature. Told him to get a job, and to stop pretending he was a poet. They laughed in his face and said to wake up and make money, or whatever the 21 Pirates said in their song. I personally am unfamiliar with Earth, Earth's idols, songs, and the way people treat each other.

This poor man was in a sanitarium, the mental section specifically. He was in perfect health, but for some reason sent away by his own brother, who claimed he was in constant "delirium". The heartbreak of isolation and not being listened to gave the man a condition, one the doctors never saw before, his brain was shutting down reality itself. He entered a state of mind where his thoughts became positive, idealistic and ecstatic. Like a fantasy similar to Peter Pan and his concept of "Neverland". The problem was, part of his brain knew Neverland, is actually, never probable.

In the world that focuses on money, sex, drugs, political power, constant production of materials to give us temporary satisfcation, this poor old man could not win. This man had an extraordinary brain, I could see through it, it's beautiful electric sparks and pulsating frequencies all in synchrony full of ideas and optimism, except for this one part I could see, almost black and decaying, rotting what was left of his whimsy. He was dying, his soul was dying and in turn his body became weak, in which doctors did send him to the ICU because of his body slowly shutting down, in what seemed like an unexplained phenomenon. Like an exploding star in it's last state fizzling away.

I put on a disguise to see for my self, went to the hospital and pretended to be a relative, when I saw the man looking at me with hopeless, dull eyes I wanted to cry. I held out my hand, I wanted to tell him I could take the pain away, but not like the grim reaper. I wanted to show him that people were wrong and that he wasn't insane, he never deserved to become a horseshoe crab enveloped in this depressive shell. I offered to lend an ear, I wanted to give the old man the comfort he deserved. I reached my hand out gently as if to shake his hand. No, more like to pet an abused dog. I felt a weird force, like a magnet, I wanted to scan his brain, as I extended my hand, I accidentally brushed his forehead and erased his memories.

I had also erased the capacity for the man to think beyond survival and logic.

But somehow, as if I'd performed a miracle, he jumped upright with most energy, like I had made him 20 years younger, and that he was no longer about to die. It would have been better if I let him die and go to Heaven, now I have made him stay living in the most meaningless, suffering life. But behind his skull and flesh, I saw that the man he was is still there, just barely. I have to find a way to reverse what I did.

In the meantime, he stays in a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and winding rivers, daydreaming things that he cannot remember about his past, his family, the outside world and how he got here. Upon a weathered wooden chair he sits, rocking himself to the sounds of birds and the smell of crisp grassy country air. At least he is away from that tainted urban city, where he was imprisoned in that hospital. Maybe, just maybe until I find a way to undo our interaction, he will find peace and recover, even the slightest. I wish I could take him with me, this world doesn't deserve him. He would thrive on the other universes I know of, where the species are enlightened and live in spiritual bliss and innocent curiosity.