To apply a little structure or consistency to my life I have decided to do a thirty day writing plan/challenge. If you have come from my Instagram then you will have seen the template that I am using. If you have not, here it is and feel free to also join in on developing your writing.
Because of how new I am to writing and the amount I will be writing for this challenge I am not going to pressure myself with complete originality (does it even exist?) or perfected writing. Instead I want to focus on the creative process of forming a narrative or an idea I find interesting and practising my execution of these ideas rather than perfecting them. So I hope you enjoy my flawed but experimental stories because I’m going to have a lot of fun writing them I think.
For the third time that day I pulled myself up onto the top of the worn cabinet, praying every moment that it would not come crashing down. I had climbed to this spot almost every day since I can remember, it felt as if the old, decaying wood had grown used to the worn places where I distributed my weight. Although it looked as if it would burst into splinters it felt strong and intimate for me in those moments. I sat cross legged at the top of the cabinet and pressed my face into the wall, positioning my eye over the crack in the brick, it wasn’t particularly wide but the crack ran deeply and created an opening between the room and the outside.
I have not been outside. Not that I can remember. Which is not much to go on as I do not remember anything before the age of five. An infection started to spread, I got it and mum told me it was something to do with oxygen being cut off from my brain. Basically I suffered brain damage, meaning complete loss of memory amongst other things and so my normal life, before all of this, is gone. Everyone at the house told me that to go outside would mean death or at least another spell of brain damage, this was more than enough to keep my suspicious nature at bay for a while. I had absorbed myself in helping the families I lived with rather than to bother myself with the poison that lay outside our heavy doors.
I sat there staring through the opening, dust would drop into my eye and I would rub it away hastily, worrying that I would miss something. Nothing would ever happen, not really, but in my mind the outside was very much an alive and energetic creature. In my thin and limited frame, I could see a beautiful array of greens, purple browns and grey. The organic green would overlap and intertwine with the hard, bold greys that stood in masses of thick browns, sometimes the hues would vary depending on whether they were wet or dry and these slight variations would deepen my fascination with this fixed perspective. I could not name a single thing I saw, I recognised the metallic materials but could not imagine it being anything I was familiar with. Eventually I would hear footsteps coming towards the rarely used back room and I would shoot down from the cabinet with as much swiftness as I bore mounting it and sat on the floor as if meditating. There was no real reason to fear someone catching me ‘in the act’ but it was a ritual that I found solace in and it could not be taken away.
The large doors were the only entrance and exit to the building, all of the windows had been bricked up long ago. Once every two weeks the doors would open for around half an hour while food was delivered and other needs were taken care of. I had begun to form an obsession with the outside and found myself visiting the opening atop the cabinet more often. I also developed a habit of stalking the front door whenever it would open and becoming feverish with the urge to run out at the first chance. I usually managed to hold these compulsions and remind myself of the pain my family suffered when helping me to rehabilitate, as well as the horrors of the outside drilled into me since. But on this particular day, alongside the routine impulse to run, I blacked out momentarily and fell into a long and distorted dream. I was small and I stood in the middle of a very vast and open room. I looked above me and the ceiling seemed infinite and thick and grey. I could feel something tickling my ankles and at my toes were long thin blades of green and a black grain had dusted the soles of my feet. All at once there was a crack of thunder and a bucketful of water thrown on my head. I awoke from my dream deluded from the imagery it possessed and found myself running out of the door. I continued running until I could no longer hear shouting behind me, they would not follow, they were too afraid.
My mind returned to my body and I stood completely still, a burning sensation emerged in my chest and my throat was dry. At first I thought that I was ill, that I was dying. Soon however, my breath returned to its usual rhythm and the dry heat subsided. I looked around me and I found myself engulfed in the greens, browns and greys that I had spied from behind the walls of the house. An instinctual smile spread on my face as light beamed on me, slightly stinging my eyes, not enough however to stop me from absorbing the enlightening effect it radiated. While my body wholeheartedly resigned itself to the outside my mind began to race with doubts and fears of the danger surrounding me, so I decided to flee back to the house the same way I had fled from it but this time I could return satisfied with my portion of the world.
I finally came to the large heavy doors, which looked much less intimidating than it had done my whole life preceding. I banged and shouted to be let in but I heard no response. I found this troubling and increasingly dangerous. After a while of my desperate beating on the door my mother came, she opened it ajar and looked at me despairingly. She held a bag out to me and simply cried as she said,
“How could you. You will kill all of us.” She paused and then slurred as she failed to hold my gaze “Leave.”
She dropped the bag, shut the door and abandoned me to the outside.