Memory. (It didn't let me post all of it)

I can’t remember anything.

I hear a voice; it’s coming from the other side of the door. This brings up the questions; where am I? What day is it; what time is it; how long have I been here; whose house is this; whose bed am I in? Is there anyone next to me, it’s too dark to see. I reach over, and start patting around; the other side of the bed was cold, no one was there.

I toss the bed sheets off my body, and sit up on the edge of my side of the bed. There is a whimper light breaking in from the blinds in front of the room’s only window. I pat my lap; my pants are still on, no shirt though.

Still on the edge of this empty bed, I linger in this void. My eye’s start to scan the floor I’m looking for my shirt. This floor from what I can make sense of is a mess. Coke-a-cola cans, wrinkled cloths, and ghost of a familiar past litter the gray carpet floor.

I can’t shake the feeling that this feels familiar: I can’t put the pieces together.

I spot my shirt under a mini office table. I force myself up from the magnifying essence of the edge of that bed. I keep stepping on God knows what, might as well be broken glass. My feet got banged up on the short walk to the office table.

I roll back the office chair, and crawl under the desk and grab my shirt. When I emerged from under the desk I threw my shirt over my head and slid it on. My eye’s pioneered the contents of the mini office desk.

There was a little lamp on the corner of the desk with a ball attached to a chain. I pulled down on the ball, and with a clicking noise the light illuminated the abyss. I took a look around the room before continuing my investigation of the desk.

Once again my stomach turned on the familiarity of the four walls caging me in. A poster of Jimi Hendrix hung above the bed; Jimi had a joint in his mouth; pouring his heart out on six steel strings. Another poster of Ludwig Van Beethoven was present on one of the walls. I saw a painting of ‘Starry Night’, by Vincent Van Gogh as well.

I stumbled across a book shelf that looks like a work in progress; ‘The Great Gatsby’, ‘1984’, ‘The Cather In the Rye’, ‘For Whom The bell Tolls’, ‘The Grapes of Wrath’, ‘Catch -22’, ‘Walden’, ‘Lord of the Flies’, ‘The Metamorphosis’, ‘The Art of Warfare’, ‘Into the Wild’, and ‘The Divine Comedy’. There were a few more, but that paints the picture.

The more I processed the room; the more I thought I would get along with who ever owned it.

I refocused on the office desk. There was a notebook; a few pens and pencils; an opened can of Sprite, and a laptop with a sticky-note on it.

“Remember not to forget about Eleanor Gail.”

I picked up the notebook; it had a strong presence about it right when I touched it.

I opened the cover to read the first page.

“Nothing is ever what it seems; breathe clings to the ceiling, and deep in overlooking passion catch on the moons crest. My friend Night might never be this bright. Oh, look up. Don’t you see these crossing strings of puppetry? I can’t make out the face. Someone is pulling your strings. Slight sounds; surrendering; showing; searching; speaking; spoken; soften are all around us now.”

My brain was twisting; what did I just read? What was the meaning to it; the purpose; the inspiration; the message? I reread it about six or seven times over in my head. Twice out loud. I didn’t realize it, but I was sitting in the office chair. I must have been too mesmerized by my reading to remember.

Setting the notebook back where I found it I hear the voice come from behind the door again.

“Did you check near the kitchen table? I saw you come in with it last night, it has to be here.”

Another voice in the distance yelled back, “Oh your right, here it is!”

The first voice was a woman’s voice, and the second was a man’s. My hand is clinched around the door knob. Hesitant to open, I feel myself swallow hard. Twisting a little more each second the door knob reaches its limit. I can’t twist anymore, only thing left to do is pull back the door. I felt my eye’s close, and my arm retract.

As the door opened a woman in a business suit was walking by my room, she turned her head the opposite way and yelled.

“Honey, Allen is awake!” She didn’t skip a beat; she kept walking as she hollered.

“Good morning Allen, breakfast is on the kitchen table. It might be cold by now though. It’s already almost lunch time. You sure do sleep in.”

I didn’t know this woman; but by the way she reacted to seeing me in her home I’m guessing she knows me. It was a reassuring feeling. She walked by and headed for the front door of the house; she had a brief case in her left hand. The door opened and rays of sunlight assaulted me shamelessly. My eyes squinted at the intensity. She shut the door behind her, and I heard a car engine purr; the muffler rattled and shook; the wheels twisted against pavement, and took off. My guess was she was off to work. I turned around and headed down the hallway. The walls were all painted with a Willow Green color. It was quite easy on the eyes. It also gave off a peaceful vibe.

The hallway had picture frames hanging with quotes instead of pictures in them. I stopped to read one, “Do not dwell in the past; do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” – Buddha. Another small picture frame had a Robert Frost quote within it, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” I laughed to myself a little after reading that Frost quote. I’ll remember that one.

There in the living room was a huge rug on top of the same gray carpet. I noticed that the rest of the house was very clean and tidy. No Coke cans abandon on the ground. I ran my finger across the top of the Frost picture frame. No dust. The mystery of the dungeon I just walked out of pondered me. The air was lighter and smelled like Febreze in the living room. The furniture was modern, the T.V. hung on the wall. It was one of those new fancy flat screens. The rug was covered in abstract artwork. Mostly shapes were present; squares; triangles; a few circles on it as well. There was a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. On the mantel above the fireplace was a cross. Christian house hold I guess.

My views on religion are blurred with confusion. I accept the possibility of a higher power, but I want proof. Religious people or not really don’t bother me. After all they’re still just human. That’s just what helps them make it through the day. We all have our ways of easing the tension of life. Alcohol, Drugs, T.V., Food, Fiction, Books, and Videogames; basically anything that helps escape reality people will attach themselves to.

The kitchen was pretty close to the living room. I walked in the door less doorway. A round wooden table was off to one corner of the kitchen, and the rest was the standard kitchen appliances.

Someone was sitting at the table reading a newspaper that he held covering his face, like how cliché most people hold a newspaper. He must have heard me walk in. He folded the newspaper in halves and set it on the table.

“Sleep well Allen?”I can’t remember anything.

I hear a voice; it’s coming from the other side of the door. This brings up the questions; where am I? What day is it; what time is it; how long have I been here; whose house is this; whose bed am I in? Is there anyone next to me, it’s too dark to see. I reach over, and start patting around; the other side of the bed was cold, no one was there.

I toss the bed sheets off my body, and sit up on the edge of my side of the bed. There is a whimper light breaking in from the blinds in front of the room’s only window. I pat my lap; my pants are still on, no shirt though.

Still on the edge of this empty bed, I linger in this void. My eye’s start to scan the floor I’m looking for my shirt. This floor from what I can make sense of is a mess. Coke-a-cola cans, wrinkled cloths, and ghost of a familiar past litter the gray carpet floor.

I can’t shake the feeling that this feels familiar: I can’t put the pieces together.

I spot my shirt under a mini office table. I force myself up from the magnifying essence of the edge of that bed. I keep stepping on God knows what, might as well be broken glass. My feet got banged up on the short walk to the office table.

I roll back the office chair, and crawl under the desk and grab my shirt. When I emerged from under the desk I threw my shirt over my head and slid it on. My eye’s pioneered the contents of the mini office desk.

There was a little lamp on the corner of the desk with a ball attached to a chain. I pulled down on the ball, and with a clicking noise the light illuminated the abyss. I took a look around the room before continuing my investigation of the desk.

Once again my stomach turned on the familiarity of the four walls caging me in. A poster of Jimi Hendrix hung above the bed; Jimi had a joint in his mouth; pouring his heart out on six steel strings. Another poster of Ludwig Van Beethoven was present on one of the walls. I saw a painting of ‘Starry Night’, by Vincent Van Gogh as well.

I stumbled across a book shelf that looks like a work in progress; ‘The Great Gatsby’, ‘1984’, ‘The Cather In the Rye’, ‘For Whom The bell Tolls’, ‘The Grapes of Wrath’, ‘Catch -22’, ‘Walden’, ‘Lord of the Flies’, ‘The Metamorphosis’, ‘The Art of Warfare’, ‘Into the Wild’, and ‘The Divine Comedy’. There were a few more, but that paints the picture.

The more I processed the room; the more I thought I would get along with who ever owned it.

I refocused on the office desk. There was a notebook; a few pens and pencils; an opened can of Sprite, and a laptop with a sticky-note on it.

“Remember not to forget about Eleanor Gail.”

I picked up the notebook; it had a strong presence about it right when I touched it.

I opened the cover to read the first page.

“Nothing is ever what it seems; breathe clings to the ceiling, and deep in overlooking passion catch on the moons crest. My friend Night might never be this bright. Oh, look up. Don’t you see these crossing strings of puppetry? I can’t make out the face. Someone is pulling your strings. Slight sounds; surrendering; showing; searching; speaking; spoken; soften are all around us now.”

My brain was twisting; what did I just read? What was the meaning to it; the purpose; the inspiration; the message? I reread it about six or seven times over in my head. Twice out loud. I didn’t realize it, but I was sitting in the office chair. I must have been too mesmerized by my reading to remember.

Setting the notebook back where I found it I hear the voice come from behind the door again.

“Did you check near the kitchen table? I saw you come in with it last night, it has to be here.”

Another voice in the distance yelled back, “Oh your right, here it is!”

The first voice was a woman’s voice, and the second was a man’s. My hand is clinched around the door knob. Hesitant to open, I feel myself swallow hard. Twisting a little more each second the door knob reaches its limit. I can’t twist anymore, only thing left to do is pull back the door. I felt my eye’s close, and my arm retract.

As the door opened a woman in a business suit was walking by my room, she turned her head the opposite way and yelled.

“Honey, Allen is awake!” She didn’t skip a beat; she kept walking as she hollered.

“Good morning Allen, breakfast is on the kitchen table. It might be cold by now though. It’s already almost lunch time. You sure do sleep in.”

I didn’t know this woman; but by the way she reacted to seeing me in her home I’m guessing she knows me. It was a reassuring feeling. She walked by and headed for the front door of the house; she had a brief case in her left hand. The door opened and rays of sunlight assaulted me shamelessly. My eyes squinted at the intensity. She shut the door behind her, and I heard a car engine purr; the muffler rattled and shook; the wheels twisted against pavement, and took off. My guess was she was off to work. I turned around and headed down the hallway. The walls were all painted with a Willow Green color. It was quite easy on the eyes. It also gave off a peaceful vibe.

The hallway had picture frames hanging with quotes instead of pictures in them. I stopped to read one, “Do not dwell in the past; do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” – Buddha. Another small picture frame had a Robert Frost quote within it, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” I laughed to myself a little after reading that Frost quote. I’ll remember that one.

There in the living room was a huge rug on top of the same gray carpet. I noticed that the rest of the house was very clean and tidy. No Coke cans abandon on the ground. I ran my finger across the top of the Frost picture frame. No dust. The mystery of the dungeon I just walked out of pondered me. The air was lighter and smelled like Febreze in the living room. The furniture was modern, the T.V. hung on the wall. It was one of those new fancy flat screens. The rug was covered in abstract artwork. Mostly shapes were present; squares; triangles; a few circles on it as well. There was a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. On the mantel above the fireplace was a cross. Christian house hold I guess.

My views on religion are blurred with confusion. I accept the possibility of a higher power, but I want proof. Religious people or not really don’t bother me. After all they’re still just human. That’s just what helps them make it through the day. We all have our ways of easing the tension of life. Alcohol, Drugs, T.V., Food, Fiction, Books, and Videogames; basically anything that helps escape reality people will attach themselves to.

The kitchen was pretty close to the living room. I walked in the door less doorway. A round wooden table was off to one corner of the kitchen, and the rest was the standard kitchen appliances.

Someone was sitting at the table reading a newspaper that he held covering his face, like how cliché most people hold a newspaper. He must have heard me walk in. He folded the newspaper in halves and set it on the table.

“Sleep well Allen?”