lostinparentheses

[lostinparentheses]

Fragments of Her

part 2 of Fragments of Her series. part 1.

Day 2: Static

The bedsheet is crumpled on the floor. I hardly ever sleep messy. I always fold the blanket over, hospital corners and everything. Today, it’s like someone fought last night and lost. A sense of paranoia creeps up. I check the windows, locked. I check the doors, locked. So it must’ve been me. Maybe I moved in my sleep, had a rough dream, a nightmare. Maybe I’ve started sleepwalking now, yea, let's add that to the list. 

The mirror fogs over while I shower, I was half expecting a creepy message saying my house is haunted, but I found something equally strange. Comforting? Even worse? A smiley face, drawn with a finger. Certainly not mine. I haven’t done that since college. I wipe it clean—if you looked at it for too long, felt like its eyes were following you around, like mona liza—but it leaves a trace behind, like a memory, smudged but present.

I reach for my towel, it’s damp, it shouldn’t be. Did i use it yesterday? No, I put out a new one. I remember folding it. Cream, soft, smelled like lavender. I always notice the smell, I always fold it the same way. But right now it’s draped over the hook, wet and crumpled, as it previously used. Had someone else been using it too? 

My laptop is open. “Signs of paranoia”. I didn’t Google that. 

I stare at the screen. Maybe I forgot. I searched and I forgot. Seems plausible, makes sense, right?

The neighbor knocks and wakes me from my peaceful slumber around noon. I don’t answer, just peek from behind the peephole, I’m not sure why. I don’t have anything to be afraid of? To be cautious of? I’m fine. He stands there, a charger in hand, my charger? I didn’t even know it was missing. 

I eat leftovers. I didn’t cook yesterday, but the fridge had a bowl, I don't remember putting it there. Maybe I got takeout. Something with rice and lentils, still warm….warm? Maybe it's the heatwave, hottest summer of the century indeed. 

I hear a creak while I’m asleep. Like someone walking barefoot over old wood. I’m not even sure if it came from the hallway or inside my head. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. Either way, I’ve seen enough horror movies to know not to get up to check. I shut my eyes tightly, as if the darkness has a volume control button. I wake up with the lights on.

[lostinparentheses]

Fragments of Her

Day 1: Blur

The tea boiled over too early today, or maybe I’m just too late to notice. The cup is already on the counter, tainted with yesterday’s tea leaves. I don’t remember leaving it there, I rinse it out anyway, it's easier to pretend. I’ve been called forgetful before—”dreamy”, “distracted”, “lost in her own world”. I always smiled, took it as a compliment, that’s all it was, right? Things have been slipping my mind this week. They’re moving. Rearranging. Like someone’s trying to rewrite my life when I’m not looking. I don’t remember buying this toothbrush. Blue. Soft bristles. Wasn’t it gray? It sits in my hello kitty cup holder like it's always been there, like it belongs. I use it once and abandon it. Some things don’t ask for explanation. Some things feel like accusations. 

Breakfast, the most important meal of the day, they say, but who really likes to cook first thing in the morning. The pan is already on the stove, weird and a little warm, is it the heatwave?. The dishes are in the sink too? I thought I washed and put them away before bed. I must start cleaning up after myself.  The fridge light flickers. Eggs. I didn’t buy eggs, did I? I hate the smell. But here they are, neatly stacked. New and fresh, might as well eat them. My phone goes off. “Charger okay?”, the text reads. Charger? I don’t remember misplacing it. I reach under my pillow anyway. It's there, where it always is. But I don’t reply. I get straight to work, work from home is a blessing, I will die on that hill. 

I go to bed early tonight. I think I do, I must’ve. I wake up in the same clothes I wore yesterday. Or maybe I changed, I’m not sure. There’s a receipt on my table. Corner store. 11:47 p.m. I don’t remember leaving the house. The toothbrush is still blue, the dishes are still in the sink, the plan is still slightly warm. 

author's note- this is gonna be a mini-series, this is part 1 of a 5-day story. New parts every day this week.

[lostinparentheses]

I've decided to start sharing some of my stories here--the ones that have lived too long in drafts, in notebooks, in the quiet corners of my head.

expect fiction, fragments, feelings, maybe some soft chaos

this is a space for stories that are still figuring themselves out

stay tuned.

[lostinparentheses]

[lostinparentheses]

please don't try to find me through my dealer, he won't pick up the phone. don't ask me how i know

[lostinparentheses]

just binge watch a show called "from"

safe to say ki ab se everytime I see a fallen tree i shall kill myself then n there.

[lostinparentheses]

hot girl summer but only in air conditioned spaces

[lostinparentheses]

patthar lauta do

patthar lauta do

warna mera shrap lagega

[lostinparentheses]

the feminine urge to give up on my dreams and die