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Going Insane Through Writing
I sit down with the paper in front of me. I see the white shade laying there. I write my first line, “Once upon a time...” it’s a very cheesy first line. Its been used over and over throughout history, but I believe I can make something of it.
Give it another meaning.
Make it appeal to the readers of todays society.
As I see the ink spill onto the page, I get more into my character. I can feel myself in his shoes.
I run through the forests of Alderan, fighting of Gliboglobber’s and Schnokintopper’s.
I ally myself with the Zomper’s.
I look around. Paper. Pen. Coffee cup. Motrin.
No forests of Alderan. No Gliboglobber’s, Schnokintopper’s, or Zompers.
Where am I?
Oh yeah. I got so lost up in my fantasy world that I actually thought I was non-human.
I stop writing. I run my hand over the leather book as I close it. The leather has a touch like none other.
All this writing could take a man to insanity.
I look towards the clock. I see the second hand ticking away. Staring at it for only a few seconds I realize I was checking the time.
Both the minute and hour hand are on the 12.
It was of course 12 pm because I had started to write at 12 am.
No wonder my hand was throbbing. I had written through the second half of my day, and now it was over.
I get lost in this book.
It’s the first I’ve written. The first to start of my career.
I think to keep writing but my hand still throbs with intense pain.
I pop the top off the Motrin and pour two of the orange pills into my hand. The I throw the pills to the back of my mouth. I swig down some coffee. Its gone cold. I feel the liquid stream down my throat.
I get up and out of the chair and walk down the hall. I enter my bathroom and begin to brush my teeth.
I recognize the sound.
A quick step out of the bathroom and a Schnokintopper runs by.
I rub my eyes. Its to late. The pain is in them.
My eyes open all to fast.
A good nights rest will get rid of these illusions I see.
I lay in my bed. I can feel the fluffed pillow underneath it.
My eyes are heavy.
I wake to a buzzing in my ears. It’s my alarm. I forgot to unset it after my year of graduating college with a majors degree in English. I’m unemployed. Nothing to do. No reason for an alarm. Why do I leave it set? I’m an author. Authors need sleep.
I’m an author. My book. My sleep must have rested it from my mind.
I hit the alarm and the buzzing ceases in my ears.
My eyes heave shut.
I wake. It’s already three in the afternoon. My eyes are no longer heavy.
I go to my desk.
The leather book still sits. I open it and continue to write.
Once again my mind is lost in this beautiful world.
I’m fighting a dragon with my sword. It breathes fire towards me, the heat is there. I dodge it. I take out a smoke bomb. It’s thrown to the ground. The smoke clouds my vision. Its mustiness cloud my nostrils.
I hear the dragon thumping towards me as the smoke clears. I cut its throat. I falls and dies.
I leave the dragons cave, cleaning its blood from my sword. Its put away. A screeching sound comes to my ears, then I'm hefted into the air by my shoulders.
I go to retrieve my sword, but I can’t. This cursid monster has somehow bound my arms to my chest. I struggle to get out of it, I can’t.
Its like a straight jacket.
As this creature continues to fly I see a kingdom come to view.
As it lowers me I can see a man who I know I will come to hate. He force feed me some sort of sedative.
I am thrown into a room of mushrooms. They are soft. It’s like padding.
I struggle to get out of this binding which the flying monster has put me in. It loosens. It comes undone, but it has gone from a soft green goo to a soft white cloth.
The mushrooms, they’ve gone from mushrooms to pillowish padding.
That was no gooey substance, it was a straight jacket.
That wasn't a flying monster, it was two men picking me up.
I have gone from a sane writer to an insane person.
I’m in an insane asylum!
No worry, my thoughts will comfort me.
I’m back in the lost forests of Alderan.