Yellow

The man who had forgotten his name wasn't allowed a mirror. He didn't understand how this would help him remember, but he was having trouble understanding a lot of things recently.

Shiny surfaces didn't exist in The Mood Centre. There was no opportunity for reflection.

It was time for the mellow phase. The walls began to glow sunny yellow. The low cello music vibrated into the room, and a voice from the hidden speakers instructed residents to "Make yourself comfortable on the bed."

The man who had forgotten his name was told to think of sunflowers, of sunny days, of golden corn waving in a gentle summer breeze. The recording was the same every day:
"Think of golden delicious apples ripening in the sun. Think of buttercups dancing in a field. Remember beautiful happy times. Relax. Think of foods from your childhood, of bananas in custard, of honey on toast, cornflakes, pineapple chunks, and birthday sponge cake."

But he forgot to close his eyes today. He'd seen a spider on the ceiling and had found himself wondering where it had come from.
His mind wandered to thoughts of shadows and gaps in the brickwork, to hiding and keeping still for days on end.

The voice told him to think of yellow things. So he thought of urine and infected wounds, of liver disease which showed in the whites of the eyes, of tobacco-stained fingers, of old toe nails. He remembered a man in a yellow t-shirt and a face that needed shaving.

He kicked at the foot of the bed. He removed a shoe and hurled it at the wall. He threw himself out of bed and punched at the yellow walls until his fists bled. He wanted his memories; his green and purple and black memories. He wanted his face. He wanted his name.

He kicked and he thumped and he kicked and he thumped until the voice broke and the yellow broke.

Conversations from the past began to seep into the silence. As the door opened and the men rushed in, he saw light from the outside world and remembered his name. He remembered blood and screams and cheering. He remembered a child's face saying Daddy was a hero.

And then it all disappeared with one small scratch, and the yellow was returned, and the cello was returned. And he asked again if he could have a mirror to help him remember.