Regressed (standard:horror, 1600 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Sep 07 2011	Views/Reads: 3919/6918	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Who were you in a past life? Perhaps it's best not to know.

Arrogant, cocky, over-confident were a few of the labels that could, and
were, levelled at Greg Curtis, a 38 year-old fork-lift truck driver at 
a Chinese wholesale food retailer. He had enough friends however, but 
secretly nobody really liked him. People like and in various ways are 
attracted to those who emit charisma, charm, and confidence. Some 
people however, have this in abundance and it can simply become too 
much, because no-one really likes arrogance, except for maybe a few, 
bizarre individuals, but they are the exceptions to the rule, as there 
is with everything. He had his close-knit circle of friends, or 
followers, people who laughed at his jokes, who agreed with his 
political opinions, who never disagreed with him on anything, and this 
in turn, only fed his ego, reinforcing his own delusions of importance. 
He had never married, and had only had three girlfriends who couldn't 
take anymore of his mannerisms and promptly left. He claimed he didn't 
want a partner, because according to him his freedoms would be stifled. 
Going for a pint and watching the match with the lads would probably be 
jeopardised, and he didn't want that. He would always claim that he 
could easily chat a woman up if he wanted. He could have a one-night 
stand with practically anyone he chose was his bold claim, believed by 
his friends as usual. It was just that, he never actually wanted to 
chat any women up, he would usually say, such was the paranoia he had 
of commitment, of losing his freedom. 

Always sporting a shaven soccer hooligan look, with a stud in the top of
each ear, and wearing casual attire wherever he went, he was one of 
those people most would try and avoid, and if you were to enter a 
conversation with him, you would hear his opinion, no matter what. Of 
course, he used to be the school bully, had spent several months in 
jail for glassing a friend over an unpaid £1 bet, and even his work 
colleagues, indigenous Chinese pretended not to understand him, yet he 
was always, however, under the constant delusion that everybody liked 
him, that he was popular. 

Usually at least twice a year, he and his so-called friends, Robbie,
Davey and Jimbo would holiday in Ibiza, or Majorca, or any of the other 
home from homes, little pieces of England only with more nightclubs and 
takeaways. His friends would always try and enjoy themselves as best as 
they could, putting up with him, but sometimes he would simply be in a 
bad mood, and whatever was on his mind you would not hear the last of, 
over and over again, the same arguments, the same opinions, until he'd 
settled down and forgotten about it. 

It was a sojourn to Malaga from where they were now returning. They had
arrived in Bristol airport, caught an extortionately priced taxi that 
drove them to Avonmouth which put him in a sour mood for a few minutes. 
They had all decided that before they went their separate ways home, 
they would all go to a fast food outlet, and as they walked along a row 
of shops by a canal, one in particular caught his attention. ‘Who you 
were' it was called, and upon closer inspection on a curtained window, 
several notices were up proclaiming what it was. ‘Revert to your past 
life. Who were you? Were you a knight in shining armour, or were you 
the princess he rescued? Come in and find out for free' “Free!” he 
said, and pointed at the notice, looking around at the others. “It's 
free” he continued, “How's this place supposed to make money?” He 
didn't expect an answer. “Dunno, are we going for scran, I'm starving.” 
said Jimbo “This'll be a laugh,” Greg said, “It shouldn't take too 
long. I'm gonna say I used to be a king or something like that”. They 
all followed him as he entered. 

Inside, they found it to be no bigger than a normal sized living room in
a semi-detached, with what was basically a dentist's chair in the 
middle that looked like it had been passed around a few times and was 
finally sent to the dump, only to be found and rescued. Besides that 
there was a high stool, akin to those found in pubs, and nothing else. 
The others all stood near the laced curtained front windows just 
standing around as though waiting for a bus. The walls were bare, as 
was the floor. Across the entrance leading into the back room Greg saw 
there was a curtain, which was pulled back, and a man who must have 
been no more than a few years older than him with dark black glasses 
and a cheap black suit walked in. He smiled at Greg and his friends 
without any humour, without any meaning, as though he was the last 
customer of the day and wanted to shut the place and go home. “Hi, my 
name is Seymour. Take a seat, lie back, and just relax” he said, 
gesturing to the chair. Greg did so, and winked at his friends before 
resting his head back. “Okay,” said the man, “Clear your mind”. “That 


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