I’ve been down and out and under inspired recently – it’s a bad habit to get into!
I’ve been letting the things I can’t control, overwhelm me – so instead – here is a little short story that’s been in my books but hasn’t gone anywhere – if you want to add to it, change it, insert characters – please feel free to do so (just link back here please!):
There are nights when you remember things long forgotten. What is this sensation of remembering? It is not always regret, nor fondness. Memories run away with us occasionally and take us to a time that never actually existed; we forget how memories can be hyper-complete: hyper-coloured, hyper-emotional, hyper-beautiful, hyper-real. But no – they are only memories. He has only memories and they are rotting his mind. If he were to let go and make new memories he would be sure to regret them. The future merely becomes the past – the past merely interrupts the future. What is a mind to do?