The Memory Realm_Thank You For Fixing Me_Mirror Years Ago_New Memories of Old Things
Catalog Guide:
The Memory Realm
It was a crisp, wintry morning in January. I was returning home after standing, shivering at the bus stop for ten minutes, seeing my 8 am bus arrive and watching from the shelter as it left moments later. I huffed in annoyance at myself for not getting on it. My legs didn’t move until the bus was far out of my sight and only then did I start to drag them sluggishly back to the large red door that meant I was home again. One of the most comforting feelings is taking in the familiar scent of your own home as you kick off your shoes, throw off your coat and chuck your bag onto the floor. Yet this...
Thank You For Fixing Me
I am disgusted with myself for somehow getting myself trapped in the series of events that led to me lying, dizzy and delirious with heat, in the sand at 3:00 in the morning. My clothes are damp with sweat, my body aching with fatigue. I can hardly think of where I would be tomorrow, my bank account drained, no job to fall back on… it’s funny how years of hard work can be destroyed in a week. I laugh weakly. Life is funny. I laugh harder. Life is pointless. I laugh until my raw throat constricts and I’m left inhaling sharply and writhing to the side. The burning sand bites into my neck and ank...
Mirror Years Ago
I was left alone. I lived alone, lonesome maybe nothing to inspire me or cultivate me anymore. My bed was the only thing that invwww.onedoor.ccited me now, open arms and warm hugs were provided. The ticking of the grandfather clock that lived with me outside of my bedroom comforted me like the beating of a heart. It lulled me to sleep, always steady and ticking throughout my head and in my dreams. It steadied everything. At any moment I could find myself on a sea of choppy and hostile water, and the ticking of the grandfather clock would steady the water so much that I could walk on it, but I was no Jesus;...
New Memories of Old Things
I woke from a bad dream and felt my mother there to comfort me on the edge of my Jurassic Park themed bed. I tell her what happened in my nightmare, even though the memory is starting to become hazy at that point, but then she takes me into the kitchen. I sit down at the table, where my legs dangle above the floor, and I see through the slim doorframe that she is ruffling through the food cupboard. The lighting is still low in the room, with the only light coming from the hallway, so she must be having a hard time finding what she wants. Eventually she pulls out a bag of dry spaghe...