Time to write!
I can’t remember the first birthday party I went to.
I can’t remember what I wore on my first date with Austin. I really can’t remember what he wore.
I can’t remember when the first time was that I told my brothers I loved them.
I can’t remember what my favorite outfit was in the seventh grade.
I can’t remember the words to certain songs I thought I’d always know.
I can’t remember how many times I fought with my cousins.
I can’t remember who my first real crush was.
I can’t remember why I ever liked Jarrett-it sounds like ferret.
I can’t remember the dream I had last night.
I can’t remember the choreography to dances I did even a couple years ago.
I can’t remember the first time I wasn’t afraid of a dog.
I can’t remember the last time either of my parents yelled at me.
I can’t remember when the last time Andrew and I had a real conversation was.
I can’t remember what I ate on my ninth birthday.
I can’t remember.
I can’t remember what else I can’t remember.
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Friday, February 1, 2013
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Captain Sparky Pants
Time to write!
Well. If you insist....
Captain Sparky Pants missed the glory days. Truly he did. Used to be that whenever he'd don his suit, children would run up wanting his autograph and the citizens would cheer, for he was their hero. He was the magnificent Captain Sparky Pants.
Of course, it also used to be that his suit was a brilliant shade of blue, and fit him fantastically, his muscles bulging beneath the extra-durable fabric.
But those were the fifties.
Now his suit was a faded, stormy blue, veering on gray, and didn't fit him nearly so well. The only thing bulging beneath the now thinning suit was his belly, and it wasn't something Captain Sparky Pants was proud of.
His only consolation was that once when he'd pull his mask up over his eyes, an effective method of concealing his secret identity- mild-mannered Jim Betrowski- he did so a the peril of covering up his exquisite head of dark, wavy hair. Now his cap covered his bald scalp. That at least was an improvement.
Captain Sparky Pants missed the old days so much that every Wednesday afternoon he'd put on his super suit, even though no one cheered anymore, and the only kids who ran up to him told him he looked ridiculous or kicked him in the shins. He'd put on his suit and he would walk down to Velma's Diner. Velma was gone now, she'd passed away back in 1977, but her daughter ran the place and she always smiled at Captain Sparky pants and passed him a bowl of oranges.
And so there he'd sit, in his super suit, peeling oranges and eating the segments. Feeling the juice squish onto his fingers and the softness of the fruit's flesh between his teeth, he would sit and reminisce, becoming nostalgic in the way that only truly old men who were once truly great can.
He missed the glory days, that was for sure, and he missed Velma, and he missed Barb, and he missed his old sidekick, Nick Thunder Drum, who had grown up and become a cartoonist and a lawyer on the weekends. He'd give anything to have those times and those people back.
Well. If you insist....
Captain Sparky Pants missed the glory days. Truly he did. Used to be that whenever he'd don his suit, children would run up wanting his autograph and the citizens would cheer, for he was their hero. He was the magnificent Captain Sparky Pants.
Of course, it also used to be that his suit was a brilliant shade of blue, and fit him fantastically, his muscles bulging beneath the extra-durable fabric.
But those were the fifties.
Now his suit was a faded, stormy blue, veering on gray, and didn't fit him nearly so well. The only thing bulging beneath the now thinning suit was his belly, and it wasn't something Captain Sparky Pants was proud of.
His only consolation was that once when he'd pull his mask up over his eyes, an effective method of concealing his secret identity- mild-mannered Jim Betrowski- he did so a the peril of covering up his exquisite head of dark, wavy hair. Now his cap covered his bald scalp. That at least was an improvement.
Captain Sparky Pants missed the old days so much that every Wednesday afternoon he'd put on his super suit, even though no one cheered anymore, and the only kids who ran up to him told him he looked ridiculous or kicked him in the shins. He'd put on his suit and he would walk down to Velma's Diner. Velma was gone now, she'd passed away back in 1977, but her daughter ran the place and she always smiled at Captain Sparky pants and passed him a bowl of oranges.
And so there he'd sit, in his super suit, peeling oranges and eating the segments. Feeling the juice squish onto his fingers and the softness of the fruit's flesh between his teeth, he would sit and reminisce, becoming nostalgic in the way that only truly old men who were once truly great can.
He missed the glory days, that was for sure, and he missed Velma, and he missed Barb, and he missed his old sidekick, Nick Thunder Drum, who had grown up and become a cartoonist and a lawyer on the weekends. He'd give anything to have those times and those people back.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Memory Bottled
Time to write!
Continue on the following:
"If only there could be an invention," I said impulsively, "that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale.And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."
That's what started it. The idea to be able to preserve a memory, to keep it in a bottle, and to visit the memory again, whenever you needed it most.
At the time, when inspiration struck me, I never imagined that this would have come of it.
I never dreamed that one day I would return to my office and meet a man there by the name of Doctor Halvin, who would inform me that the idea I had conceived could actually become a reality.
And we both never even considered the possibility that we'd end up making more than we'd set out to. We never stopped to consider what might actually happen if you truly trapped a memory inside a bottle.
Time travel. And now we're all in trouble.
Ok, so once again I'm updating at 1:40 and that's why this is so short. HOWEVER, I actually do love, and I mean love the idea this prompt gave me and could see myself turning this into a story. So I'll probably revisit this prompt at some point and then some other time begin writing a real story. But I'm jazzed. I love inspiration!
Continue on the following:
"If only there could be an invention," I said impulsively, "that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale.And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."
That's what started it. The idea to be able to preserve a memory, to keep it in a bottle, and to visit the memory again, whenever you needed it most.
At the time, when inspiration struck me, I never imagined that this would have come of it.
I never dreamed that one day I would return to my office and meet a man there by the name of Doctor Halvin, who would inform me that the idea I had conceived could actually become a reality.
And we both never even considered the possibility that we'd end up making more than we'd set out to. We never stopped to consider what might actually happen if you truly trapped a memory inside a bottle.
Time travel. And now we're all in trouble.
Ok, so once again I'm updating at 1:40 and that's why this is so short. HOWEVER, I actually do love, and I mean love the idea this prompt gave me and could see myself turning this into a story. So I'll probably revisit this prompt at some point and then some other time begin writing a real story. But I'm jazzed. I love inspiration!
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