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Anha

Australia

ON HIATUS

in a state of constant exhaustion, supporting the gays, and thinking about mythology.

dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.

write free, SomeFormOfWriting
miss you, LackingASocialLife
go be great, Paperbird

Message to Readers

This is maybe the weirdest writing exercise I've set for myself ever. It was surprisingly easy. I should do it more often.

Remember #AStorysNumberLine

October 12, 2018

FREE WRITING

7
Chapter One: A Single Memory

    I've been in this room for a long time. Sometimes I forget I'm in a room if I close my eyes. I close my eyes a lot. Because the doctors tell me sleep is important. Sometimes I forget that too. So I stare at the wall, because if I stare at it long enough, I think I'll be able to remember if it has a crack on the bottom left-hand corner, or if there's a small orange stain near the ceiling. There aren't either of these things, those are just examples, but I like to think of things that I might be able to remember. I'm not very good at remembering.
    A doctor came in yesterday. I remember that they're called doctors because they wear white coats and no one else wears white coats and gets called Doctor. I think she was female but I don't remember. The doctor brought someone with them. The someone was crying so it was kind of hard to understand, but I remember that the someone was female because of her voice.
    I remember voices because it's like they're already in my brain. I don't have to remember what a voice looks like. My room doesn't have a voice. Only people have voices. So by deducting that having a voice means there is a person, I'd say that there are a lot of people passing by my room every day. But I don't remember what any of them look like.                


Chapter Two: These Two

    "Please try and remember these two objects," the doctor says. She's the same doctor who brought the female in here the other day.
    "Is that a new shirt?" I say, trying to be polite. Because that is how you start conversations. By being polite and commenting on how nice people's clothing are. I don't actually know if it's a new shirt or not, and I can only remember that it's blue when I stare at it long and hard. But I also know it's rude to stare. So I don't know whether I should stare or try and remember the colour of her shirt in case it comes up in conversation.
    People have conversations all the time. It's considered normal. I think I want to have conversations because I don't get many normal things in this room. It's quiet most of the time. I don't like it when it's quiet. When it's quiet it's like I'm forced to try and remember things about my room, even when I can't. Those are the times where I close my eyes and try to forget that there's a room at all. I lie in my bed and curl up into a ball under a blanket. I remember that there's a bed and I'm under a blanket because I can feel them. It's like they're reminding me they're there. The room doesn't do that. The room's too quiet and I can't feel it.
    I remember things better when I can feel them.
    Did I tell you that already?
    Sorry, I don't remember.


Chapter Three: Three Years Ago

    I don't remember when I started to forget things. Someone told me it was three years ago. I've forgotten how long ago that was. Sometimes I wish that I could remember things. Maybe if I remembered things I could leave the room more. I know I've been out of the room before. I just don't remember when.
    I don't mind the room. It's not empty. I think I would like the room less if it was empty. I know there's a bed, because I'm sitting on the bed, and I know there's a shelf because I'm staring at it now. I don't think I would remember that there is a shelf if I was looking at the floor. A doctor told me that I don't need to look at the floor to remember it's there because the floor is always there. It's impossible for there to be no floor, even when you're flying.
    I like stories about superheroes that fly. I think flying is a very useful superpower. If I could fly, I wonder if the doctors would let me leave the room more. I don't think so, because I'd probably get lost. I get lost easily. I don't remember what the places I was at look like. So it's harder for me to go back to where I was, even if I know that I walked forward, so hypothetically, I'd have to walk backwards to get back to where I was before.
    I've walked backwards before, but I think I prefer walking forwards. Walking backwards is like walking forwards except if you couldn't see when you were walking forwards. Walking forwards is the way that most people walk. I remember the doctor told me so. The doctors tell me a lot of things. I'm glad I can remember them.
Kind of an indefinite ending, but honestly this kind of thing could go on forever. I tried using a different kind of writing style this time. I'm emulating a kind of Mark Haddon, from when he wrote ' The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time', which had an autistic protagonist.

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  • October 12, 2018 - 12:12am (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • Araw

    You've taken to this new writing style well. Good job.


    9 months ago