drabble . 004 - crazy
drabble . 004 -- word of the day: memory
fandom: shadow of destiny
characters: eike kusch
title: crazy
---
I’m not much for hypochondria, but I’m very convinced that something is wrong with me.
Journal-writing--nightly ritual now.
Lights were out. He’d had to dig around in his closet for candles.
I’m forgetting things.
Traffic jam of messages piled up in his answering machine.
Bill collectors.
Concerned friends.
I received a call from one of my professors today. Apparently I haven’t been to class in two weeks.
Trash bin was a riot of colors. Warnings, notices.
Water was off.
Electricity was off.
I don’t remember being enrolled at all.
Three people had come to the door today. Sent them away.
It was the strangest thing. I forgot Dana today. Actually forgot her.
Refrigerator was empty--mostly. Beer. Questionable take-out. Old milk.
Interesting liquor in the cabinet beneath the sink. Tasted like varnish. Might’ve been, but the label insisted it was brandy.
I just saw a brown-haired woman. “What’s wrong, Eike?” she’d asked. The only thing I could think of was how she’d known my name.
Three-hundred year old Kirschwasser.
Might’ve sold nicely, but he liked the sting better.
Short-lived, of course. I remembered her. But for that brief moment--she was a stranger.
Today was spent thinking. (Everyday was spent thinking.)
He didn’t remember when he moved in. Or why.
She thought I was joking.
There were boxes beneath his bed he hadn’t known were there. Found them when he was digging for money.
I missed another appointment today. Eckhart’s getting irritated. I could’ve sworn I’d written it down in my planner.
In the boxes were journals.
Had someone call my name four times before I realized they were talking to me.
And more journals.
Not because I wasn’t paying attention.
And more journals.
2000. 1999. 1990. 1985. 1972. 1968. 1960. 1955. 1949.
1850.
1720.
Not possible.
I keep finding sketchbooks lying around the house. I wonder if Dana left them over.
He was twenty-two years old.
Talked to Dana about the sketchbooks and she just looked at me like I was crazy.
Wasn't he?
---
the problem with this one is that only me and two other people have ever played this game.
fandom: shadow of destiny
characters: eike kusch
title: crazy
---
I’m not much for hypochondria, but I’m very convinced that something is wrong with me.
Journal-writing--nightly ritual now.
Lights were out. He’d had to dig around in his closet for candles.
I’m forgetting things.
Traffic jam of messages piled up in his answering machine.
Bill collectors.
Concerned friends.
I received a call from one of my professors today. Apparently I haven’t been to class in two weeks.
Trash bin was a riot of colors. Warnings, notices.
Water was off.
Electricity was off.
I don’t remember being enrolled at all.
Three people had come to the door today. Sent them away.
It was the strangest thing. I forgot Dana today. Actually forgot her.
Refrigerator was empty--mostly. Beer. Questionable take-out. Old milk.
Interesting liquor in the cabinet beneath the sink. Tasted like varnish. Might’ve been, but the label insisted it was brandy.
I just saw a brown-haired woman. “What’s wrong, Eike?” she’d asked. The only thing I could think of was how she’d known my name.
Three-hundred year old Kirschwasser.
Might’ve sold nicely, but he liked the sting better.
Short-lived, of course. I remembered her. But for that brief moment--she was a stranger.
Today was spent thinking. (Everyday was spent thinking.)
He didn’t remember when he moved in. Or why.
She thought I was joking.
There were boxes beneath his bed he hadn’t known were there. Found them when he was digging for money.
I missed another appointment today. Eckhart’s getting irritated. I could’ve sworn I’d written it down in my planner.
In the boxes were journals.
Had someone call my name four times before I realized they were talking to me.
And more journals.
Not because I wasn’t paying attention.
And more journals.
2000. 1999. 1990. 1985. 1972. 1968. 1960. 1955. 1949.
1850.
1720.
Not possible.
I keep finding sketchbooks lying around the house. I wonder if Dana left them over.
He was twenty-two years old.
Talked to Dana about the sketchbooks and she just looked at me like I was crazy.
Wasn't he?
---
the problem with this one is that only me and two other people have ever played this game.