Short Story / Fuge
There’s a buzz in the back of my head. It feels somewhat narcotic, blissful, and oh, it’s simply perfect. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, but it’s alright for now.
I’m just going to keep riding this train.
I can feel the twists and turns of the el. Instead of flowing in one seamless curve you can feel as it inches it’s way around the rail quick and bitter. I think I forgot something when I left the house. Not something trivial like the coffee pot or the oven… I don’t remember if I even have a coffee pot.
I don’t think I have an oven either. In fact, I’m not quite sure of what I do have at my house. I’m starting to second guess this train ride. I hear people talking on the train, but I can’t make out a word they say. I can distinguish between the conductor blurting out the endless and monotonous stops one by one, but I couldn’t tell you where I am. I think I should be worried by now.
“We’ve reached Howard on the Red Line heading for the 95/Dan Ryan.” I felt like I should get up here, but in my hypnotic delight I just kept myself on the seat. All of the people come and go, but I’m waiting here. I wonder if they’ll notice I haven’t gotten off yet when we come back around. A man could ride the subway from sunrise to sunset without taking a single breath, and nobody would take a second look at him. You could have the car be your own social coffin until the train comes to a sudden stop and you fall lifeless like a rag doll to the ground and actually got in somebody’s way. They wouldn’t care until they had to step over your body causing them to miss their stop and watch the platform roll by through the doors that closed seconds before.
The train must have hit a bump or something because my head knocked against the transparent panel right next to the door. I instantly got up within the second I felt something hit me, and walked quickly right off of the train.
I think it was dark when I had left, but who knows, I think I nodded off on the way here. But to be honest with you, I’m not sure where I was exactly heading in the first place.
I’ve never been to this part of town. Do I even live in this town at all? The darkness was sweetly welcoming because it shared something in common with me. We both had a steady feeling of uneasiness and mystery embedded in our being. The more and more I thought, the less and less I knew.
The more I asked, the less I could answer. I simply overlooked this for a bit, but it is starting to get me scared. I don’t know remember where I am, where I was going or where I came from. It’s nauseating me to keep pushing myself to ask these rudimentary questions. I feel orphaned by the city, joining the vagrants wandering to pass the time.
There’s something missing. It took me a bit to uncover the truth. I simply can’t remember who I am. Go ahead and ask me my name, I’ll stumble like a drunk heading for a face full of concrete. Except I won’t hit my target, I’ll miss it worse than any inebriated man who could at least pull out his wallet and prove who he was.
“Wait, my ID!” I exclaimed. That can prove to me who I am. I reached down to my back pocket, nothing. None of my pockets availed anything. Not even some change, a dollar or two to buy a train pass home. If I find home before morning anyways that is.
This is absurd. Is it a nightmare? When will my alarm clock start buzzing and I can reach out to hit the snooze button before lying half awake in bed in a cold sweat more scared of the fact that this was a dream and unsettled that it wasn’t actually real. The buzzing won’t come though. This goddamn dream won’t end. My feet are sore, I’ve been walking since I got up and got off the train. I’m too entranced to stop. If I just keep walking I might recognize something. I can’t stop walking, who needs sleep when they don’t know who they are. I’ve got more important things to attend to.
I need to delve into my head. I need to crack myself, if I tell anybody they’ll send me to the loony bin and lock me up without a name and without a say in any of it. They’ll just talk behind the mirror saying, “He doesn’t remember who he is, how can he function?” and “If he can’t spell or speak his name how did he manage to feed himself all this time?” they just won’t understand.
I can’t tell another soul about this, when I come back to my senses I’ll be able to write this in a journal and burn it to the heavens. Watch the smoke fly up into the air and I’ll know that I will have moved on from this event.
I’m tired, sore, panicked, and strung out. My eyes feel like there are toothpicks in between my eyelids. My head feels like the gears aren’t turning. They’re stuck doing the same motions rocking back and forth on the same cog every time. My vision feels hazy, but I’m good to go.
I won’t stop walking until my body falls off of my legs like a robot who’s screws came undone all at once. I won’t stop searching until I fall like that rag doll to the ground, I can’t stop searching for myself. Sooner or later I could turn myself over to the authorities, they’ll have a way to find who I am. I could try robbing a gas station and getting them called over to my place, they won’t have any trouble finding out who I am that way, but I’ve got this feeling if I were to go in asking for help I’d say locked in a cell and asked in the morning if I was sober enough to remember who I am now before they throw me back to the curb while again talking behind my back about how helpless and pitiful I am.
I am a fugitive. Not of the law, but of the mind. Sooner or later I know that this will pass. I don’t know where I am feeling this, but I have a firm belief that all things will pass. Just as the station passed by when you missed the automatic doors and they closed right in your face. Hopefully my sanity will get off at the next stop and come to find me. I’ll be searching for it until then. With open arms, and mind open to pretty much anything. I’m literally a blank page. Write the name in top right corner and start from page one, you’re more informed than I am.
I won’t rest until I figure this out. I won’t rest until I break into myself. I won’t rest until I forget about this whole mess.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
you should continue, because i liked the way it started. the amnesia story has been done millions of times and it’s different being lost along with the main character.i want to see how skilled you are allowing the readers to go along discovering his past at the same time he does. other than that good grammar and detail and you did a great job, making me lost along with the character.Also do like 2 more parts..dont make this super long and drawn out.
- add/view comments (0)
That was deffinitley with out a doubt one of the best short story I have ever read! Keep writting I would like to see more stories from you in the future.
Showing 1 - 2 of 2
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
