Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Writing Wednesday: Madness

Here's a piece that I wrote for my "Writing London" class. It's a class mainly focused on essays and creative non-fiction, but the prompt "What is madness?" just got me going too far for me to focus on the non-fiction part of it. I have to say though, that I've recently been getting into lists and visuals, in terms of writing. I get lots of images and thoughts in my head, which I then translate to paper. Anyways, this one is really "trippy," but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it! :)

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Neurons firing randomly, like suicidal lightning bugs, driving with their feet stuck on the pedal, racing for the edge of the world. Don’t tell me I don’t know crazy. There are lots of ways to go crazy, and I’ve walked down all of those lines. People look at me like I’m some sort of mutant, crawled up from the dark, bubbling marshes, here to infiltrate and contaminate their perfect, limited lives. I see you. All of you, floating around in your safe little bubbles, just waiting to be popped and injected with cold, black sludge, until your insides feel like their floating in the empty void of deep space and the Milky Way stretches between your navel and your appendix. I’m still trying to find the last half of my liver and the lower portion of my right lung. I think they’re lost in the Hourglass Nebulae somewhere. Hopefully they’ve found each other some how and are floating around together. My liver’d be lonely otherwise. Sometimes I wish that I was out there with them. Then I wouldn’t be alone either.
Instead I’m stuck here, inside a circular room, and they’ve told me to sit in the corner. I’m pretty sure the room is located on the end of a telescope and someone is trying to adjust it, because it keeps getting smaller and smaller. Sometimes there are shadows, shaped like people or doors or trees. But they’re never there when I look straight at them. The walls are like marshmallows. They taste like marshmallows, but they feel like rocks in my tummy. It’s comfortable here, except on laundry days when they throw my marshmallow room into the dryer and put it on tumble. I hate laundry days. It washes away all the pretty words on my marshmallow walls. The words say “crazy, insane, batty, loony, lost.” They remind me of who I am. Who are you?

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So there you have it! Until next time!

~Becca

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