Ilya's latest post made me consider my own situation (once again). I think the 'writing' part becomes difficult without the 'together' part. 10 more days and it seems I'll be the last person to write regularly on this site. I wonder if it might feel lonely. Like someone stubborn who continues when everyone else has left.
This was something I considered a while back; being the last one. In the beginning of all this, I wanted to be at the top of the Top Writers board. I had this feeling I wanted to win, even if that didn't make sense. It's a community, or it's supposed to be. Usually, those who leave are replaced by new people. "Winning" would be to feel a part of something and do something that feels good or teaches you some in the long run.
I'm preparing myself for the echoey halls that await me. The lonely dance party with way too much booze. I'm sure those who read this post, will check in once in a while and leave a heart on what I write. But I'm also prepared for a little less than 3 months of very solitary writing. Writing for the sake of writing and not to be a part of something bigger.
I feel like I owe myself to finish this project. I'm gonna do 3 years that includes a whole year of small stories. Today I got one step closer to that goal.
It's just one thing after another
I take her hand and gently press it against my own face. It's cold in a soothing way. A comforting sensation spreads throughout my body but instantly turns to pure dread like supercooled water-changing state when I realize it's not her hand, it's not even her, it's a bundle of cooked spaghetti.
I throw it away from me in a state of terror and it falls to the ground making the sound of a head impacting with a concrete floor. I want to cry, I don't want to be there anymore.
Something touches me. My hair is like seaweed with small fish swimming around. It tickles and I remember I had to shave my head because you put a massive piece of gum in it while filming a "prank video". I have no hair that turns to seaweed in water. I hate you for it and I pretend it's not a big deal.
I need to be somewhere. I just can't remember where or why. I begin to run.
I wake up in the arms of my mother. I'm safe. She tells me I have had another episode. I'm on the floor in my childhood bedroom. I begin to cry and I hug her. I'm trying to hold onto mist and the small droplets are ice cold on my skin. I remember my mother died last year.
I'm falling through the infinite space.