This Is Your Mind...

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Long, dark corridors surround me and I am trapped. How am I going to get out of this place?

I run, my tennis shoes make loud echoes on the tile floor, sending reverberations up and down the walls. I open a door. A screen fills the far wall, a video of me when I was five, riding on a John Deer tricycle project onto it. Freaked out, I close the door and cross the hallway to another one. Another screen. This time, me when I was eight at the fourth of July fireworks, my favorite backpack in between my shoulder blades. I slam the door and go to another room, the same only with another forgotten memory of me.

A figure steps out of one of the thousands of doors, cloaked in black and hissing at me. Heart racing, I throw myself into one of the rooms and shut the door behind me. In this one, I’m just a baby, giggling and gurgling at my father. Mesmerized, I forget why I came in here until a scratching sound starts coming from the outside of the door. I jump, and run closer to the screen, farther from the door.

It flies open, the dark creature making a horrible sound, ripping the terrified shriek from my lips. It moves in short, jerky spurts that scare me more than the noise. This alien thing is familiar. I don’t remember why. Its long, gnarled finger isolates itself from the hand, and it curls it towards itself, gesturing for me to come forward. To follow.

Should I? All it could possibly do is make my death quicker if I go to it. So I do. Maybe if I obey, it will be merciful. It laughs a raspy, creepy laugh and turns into the hallway. A crusty hand grabs my own and leads me forward into another, darker room. On the screen is a scene of a dark night, no stars or moon to shed any light. I show up, eleven years old and running my heart out. The creature follows.

The creature is a monster from a forgotten nightmare. What is this place?




It speaks.
“This is your mind…” it says menacingly. “The long, dark corridors of forgotten things… still here… waiting for you to find them… and now you have.” It rasps. Shivers fall in waves down my spine.

I run for the door, swing it open, and bolt down the passage, nothing but more rooms come in to view.

My childhood memories. All that I have forgotten, here, rusting and collecting dust and cobwebs inside my mind. Now there’s no escaping.





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MiriamCGarnet said...
Jan. 7, 2011 at 9:16 am

I think that you have a great idea, but some of your diction could be revised to better communicate your story.

First: the section where the narrator is running through the halls of his mind and finds the first video (sees himself when he's five years old). Honestly, I don't see anything particularly scary about riding a tricycle. Why is he 'freaked out?' Did something traumatic occur a few minutes later? Why is the narrator frightened by that image?

Second: there is the phrase ... (more »)

 
bahannahpeel This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jan. 8, 2011 at 9:29 am

I appreciate the feedback. The narrator first of all, is a girl, though I didn't specify in the piece. She is freaked out because why the heck are there videos of her on the screen? Who took them? was she being stalked?

I realize that it doesn't flow quite as smoothly as I would have liked, but this was just a fun piece, more for the idea than the writing.

As for the ‘room with the doors’ you mentioned, that is the corridor she’s been running down all along. I ... (more »)

 
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