A Life of Only Minutes (the Edited Part I)

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openthoughts
Member

since 2006-01-16

Posts 94
Where the child can be free

0 posted 2007-10-03 04:16 PM

Something is not real.  What?  My thoughts are real.  The world is real, though presently I wish it wasn’t.  Why?  I cannot remember.  Have I left the world?  Has it left me?  Me.  I.  Perhaps I am not real.  Is it possible to not be real?  I am thinking; is that not enough?  Real people have mouths.  Real people can talk.  I can’t talk.  He can but I can’t.  Who is he?  Why, I am he of course.  But he can talk.  If he can talk, why can’t I?  Because I do not exist, that’s why.  I must exist though.  I must exist to realize that I do not.  Then I must be real.  Something is not real.  The world.  The world is not real.  That must be why it has left me.  Or did I leave it?  No.  I cannot leave what I was never a part of.  I am real and the world is not.  I.  There it is again.  Who?  I.  I can feel it.  There is more.  If only I could reach out a little further—if only.  I know there is more.  I can feel it.  I can feel.  No, that’s not right.  He can feel.  I can think and he can feel.  Where is he?  I call out.  I scream his name.  No answer.  He’s there.  I can feel it.  He’s  there, ignoring me.  Who is he?  I hate him, whoever he is.  I hate him for ignoring me.  He’s ashamed.  He failed and now I have to deal with his failure.  Failure.  That’s right.  Failure.  I needed you and you failed me.  I hope you die, you worthless, broken-hearted, loser.  My eyes begin to feel wet.  My eyes!  They are my eyes!  Please, I beg the tears, please don’t stop.  Please don’t start, but please don’t stop.  I don’t want to lose this.  I scream again and he can’t hear it.  Only I can.  It is a scream for me and me alone and if he can share it, everyone can.  Nobody else can have this scream.
Eric.
What was that?  It was too faint.
Eric.
There it is again.  Eric.  It was more distinct that time.  What is Eric?  It is not nothing.  It means something.  I can feel it.  Eric.  Eric is a name.  Who is Eric?  I don’t know.  Or do I?  He is Eric!  These are Eric’s eyes.  These are Eric’s tears that won’t go away and won’t stay either.  Maybe if I call out his name then he’ll answer me.  Eric, I call out.  Eric!  Still no answer.  Eric!  Please come back.  I do not hate you.  Eric, please.  Why won’t you answer?  Why won’t he answer?  Perhaps he is not ashamed.  Perhaps it is I who should be ashamed.  I have failed him and he is angry at me.  I am sorry Eric.  I didn’t mean to abandon you like I did.  I shouldn’t have.  It was wrong and I am sorry.  It won’t happen again.  He still doesn’t answer.  I scream again and still the world doesn’t hear me, because the world does not exist.
I am my own tormented mind.

7
Member

since 2000-04-26

Posts 113
Amherst, MA, USA

1 posted 2007-10-18 04:03 AM

an entrancing (although at times hard to follow) portrayal of a torn inner identity. reminds me of Hamlet's "to be or not to be"

it gets a little jumbled in the middle but you bring it back together in the end. perhaps a different format would be less confusing, i.e. paragraphs in different places.

well done

7

Larry C

Member Patricius

since 2001-09-10

Posts 10286
United States

2 posted 2007-10-18 12:20 PM

7,
Just so you know this author asked not to be critiqued.

Kalle
Member

since 2007-10-15

Posts 89
Finland

3 posted 2007-10-18 01:10 PM

A Japanese novel In search of a distant voice by Taichi Yamada had

Some homosexual Eric as a haunting image in a young man`s mind, I suggest you read the book, worthwhile for anyone

fractal007
Senior Member

since 2000-06-01

Posts 1958

4 posted 2007-10-21 01:18 AM

Interesting piece. At first I thought it was about a newborn, but then I realized this was not likely since the emotions being discussed are a bit too complex. Besides it's my understanding that newborns' conceptions of their identities are often tied to their mothers.

The story was reminiscent of some elements of Descartes' musings about whether he really existed. I think we've all gone through periods in life (usually very early on) in which we believe that only we exist.

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