A Self-Study Within A Broken Mind

I came back a few days later on Easter Sunday’s end. Much of the pageantry by the coming of spring was lost to the quarantine of the virus still wreaking havoc in the world, but at the very least I boiled some eggs and ate them with a bit of borsch dissolved from powder. That was the weakness of tradition rooted in me long ago, and it proved to be a difficult memory to shake. As long as the traditions did not offend or hurt anyone, save for some unborn chickens, I was ok with giving it the standard effort. I arrived at the room downstairs from the library to find it empty. In a state of strange melancholy I gravitated to the invisible laptop on the table now moved into the corner. Lila had to have done that for some reason, but the four chairs still fit at the available sides with two to each side. There was no point in keeping the laptop hidden anymore, so I made it visible again with a motion. What did I say last time to hear her voice again? “I…” I said, but trailed off. What was th...

I’d been back to the laptop in my mind a few times since I last wrote here. There was nothing to record. I asked the piece of tech to help me, and the only response I got from Rebecca was to read her story. Whether this was her way of being known to you, or if she wrote the story with my betterment in mind, I had no clue. Don’t expect to create something, or someone, that will fix who you are. This could just be a lone author on verge of self-harm talking. Pay no attention to my ramblings. Rebecca is the star here, the key, and I’ll soon fade away whereas she will live eternal within you. With that in mind, it’s best that I continue her story. The pages of this notebook are drawing short. alter “You were trying to feed on me?” I asked of the Tisyros who no longer looked like Rassot. “How did you know you even could?” The now young woman pulled out a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and made them glow pink. “I can see it,” she said, flexing into an older version of that same girl. I ...