dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.
yet, every heaven has a hell under its surface.

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miss you, LackingASocialLife
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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


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.

    about 1 year ago