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Time to Realize

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“Uuhhhhggg,” her foster mother, Mrs. Sinazi moaned, “Uuhhg! Why don’t you ever listen? I told you that the dog is only supposed to be fed twice-a-day.”

“Well, I’m sorry, my loving animal abuser, but when Sandy dies, tell me when to plan her funeral!” She thundered out the door in full thrust, knowing the future held no comfort for her wherever she went, whenever or however. The road ahead both, physically and psychologically, was bleak and cold, but a change is about to happen. “Just walk away from that God forsaken house with confidence, with confidence, with confidence,” was all the mysterious girl could say to herself because something is with her.

Standing in the middle of the street she began staring, watching, and wondering about the joyful bliss surrounding her. She thought that at any moment it would begin to close in on her, as though it was watching her, but it was only watching, not ready to pounce. She did not realize it when it hit her, life flashing before her eyes. Blinking out like a candle, but not getting light back up, but could she possibly be different? It would be cliché for her to be different, but clichés, when twisted, can make a good story. For, when twisting them, it will be ere long they are, not the conventional, but the discrete.
What was the last thing she remembered? She looked up at the sky, The Sun. There was a dark surface, so flirtatious it could attract heat…A Road. There was a Force of matter colliding together to produce energy so detrimental to everything, perhaps a truck. Then only darkness fell upon her, but stars could not swarm around her like bees, only in her mind. She could move, but she could not. She could feel her muscle strain as she lifted her arm, but the livingness of it was not visible in front of her perfect and exotic green eyes.
________________________________________________________________________

Five years passed since the unfortunate accident and the girl is suffering from amnesia with a rare malfunction in her brain which causes her to dream deeply for extensive periods of time, maybe days, week, or months. This has been her longest yet…three years.

Now what about forever? Is that plausible? Can we surreptitious and needy humans let anything be for eternity? Can we let her dream, happily, for forever?

“It is time for this girl to listen and to listen well. It is time for her to realize who I am and what I stand for.” her foster mother exclaimed, “She’s delirious so of course you as a doctor should know that she does not know what she is saying.”

Another symptom of this disease is sleep talking, but only occurs when the slumber is coming to an end.

“I am sorry Mrs. Sarcheski,” the doctor says, “but she does not want to see you. That is what she is moaning about and also, when someone is delirious they are saying things for a particular reason thank you very much so do not underestimate my authority as a doctor.”

“But she doesn’t even know her own name.”

“Exactly,” the doctor replied.

Even though the doctor ha made absolutely no sense in his words he felt a calm and sudden understanding did not like her mother. Well, it was not a complete lie, his intuition and mental philosophy just helped him give her a truth that is not of her pleasing, and there fore she stormed out of the mental facility with rage, disgust, hatred, and detest at her “disrespectful” (as she called him) doctor.

When the injured girl with Amnesia said out loud that she did not want to see her foster mother, she actually was dreaming some thing very similar in her dynamic imagination. She was now going in deeper into her imagination, into dark corners and trap doors that have not been discovered yet, but this time she might take it a little too far. She began to sort through her memories reflecting upon so many, too many events, but one stood out the most. A fairytale, a book, a magic happening, and maybe, a touch of fairy dust.


A lonesome girl stood in the middle of the wood. There was no one nearby to hear maybe a small whimper or “oohing” of an owl. It was just a plain, dead, boring piece of land. Everything was still so, so, still. It was peaceful and bliss, almost to the point of blithe like the animated forests in a princess movie, a fairytale. One sound made by an organism was hastily overpowered by Silence. Of course there were no sounds to be made by inanimate objects because this is a forest and there are not any inorganic objects in a forest. The Power of Silence. The girl was in love with this setting, but why would it leave?

A change in scenery that would put a Broadway play’s speed to shame and of course there was no red, velvet curtain falling from the heavens. A Sun, a Flash, A Truck, A Fairytale, A Forest, and perhaps a Silence. Now, can that have meaning?

People now where filing past her in no particular order. “Stomp, bump, and uhhg,” where so many annoying sounds that she could hear in the dull hallways of a simple, average middle school. The murials on the walls of many random scenes tried to make the setting pleasant, but it just was not enough, it is never enough. She thought that hopefully, soon, that the wasted time, the thrown away moments, seconds, of her dreams would not be spent uselessly here anymore, “Time to go,” she thought. Her mind surprisingly obeyed.

Might she leave soon, the confinement of her dreamy, overactive head in her vicious imagination, but the concept of arriving to guardian’s house again was not intriguing or inviting. Maybe this was all a production and at the end there would be a curtain call, but where were the playbills? This Broadway invention would most likely be called “The Scenes of Spontaneous Occurrences.” A Sun, a Truck, a Fairytale, a Forest, a Moment, one Imagination, and, for being out of order… One Silence yet to come.

“Huuu,” a breathe of fresh air. The real world was there, coming, reaching toward her but only shunning away from her grasp ever so slightly, or was she in some parallel universe where everything was opposite from its counter world? Was she, could she possibly be…dead, no she could not ponder on that bitter-sweet thought? This time she was really going into her imagination, but for good. The show was about to begin.

As the curtains lifted themselves dramatically, they presented a vast and barren forest which was clearly shown before her as clear as a crystal vase never having been touched before. The only difference between the scene earlier was that this particular and unique one displayed too many organisms all cramped together, but where all evenly spread among the confined space. Enthralled as she was, it was only correct to take this situation one step at a time.

One….step….at….a….time….one….single….step. Soon, as she did take that one move, that one moment the world froze. Frozen in time and in her mind only was she seeing this melancholy madness of disbelief.


The doctor only checked her progress which was all he could do in his power….nothing. Dr. Confettic only shunned away not wanting to see anymore from the papers of aggravation.

Her heart beat was normal (while on life support) and her pulse was normal. Dr. Connfetic needed a clue, a hint, a warning, a sign, a symbol, and there it was. Slowly, reaching for the knob, endlessly, he turned the dial down letting her have her last few breathes of pure air.

“Huuu.”


The girls dream was over as Earth was suddenly in view, then the United States, then the Northeast, next New Jersey, then Flemington, then….Maten Parks, Rm. 21

“Huuu! My name is Alice,” Alice shouted, “and I am in Maten Parks.”

A flash, a truck, a fairytale, a tree, a student, a moment, an imagination, a time….someone was gone.





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everlasting words said...
Jan. 13, 2009 at 10:48 pm
Hello wonderful readers! I apologize about the word "clich© " it is supposed to be "cliche." I guess it was mixed up because of the accent marks. I do not know why there are accent marks in the English language. Isn't it confusing enough?
 
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