A Self-Study Within A Broken Mind

I came back to the library to some calm insanity. JJ was there, but the whole space was filled with a bundle of racetrack. The sound of toy cars whooshing past was like a constant song of a thousand cicadas. Rebecca was back to regular age, so she might have felt me arrive, but I needed to deal with this first. I flew above the building and inspected the bundles of orange track expanding from the tree-house, into Rebecca’s home, then into the library. JJ had too much freedom, but I needed to be careful taking it away. He was another Finnelgamin in terms of being able to edit the space they both occupied. I had to talk to him, or the whole space would soon be occupied by toy car tracks. “JACK!” a voice shouted from below. It was Rebecca, on the roof of the library. “Jack!” I flew down to find her clothes all torn up. Instantly, I felt Finn needed to be punished, but if she couldn’t calm him, finding Moredo and John would not go over well. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Did Finn...

I came back at the end of the day. After checking in on Rebecca, who was sleeping on the hammock outside, I created a form and entered the house to find the terrible trio, my mind of the past. For them, time stood still. In fact, time was still frozen around the house. The clock on the wall wasn’t ticking time anymore. It felt calming to be outside of time, even if only in my mind. This was a space where I could pretend I had no expiration date, there was nothing to keep me disciplined. I had no age, no rules to follow with regards to time. And yet, this escape was only created TO escape the predicament of Finnelgamin. I needed JJ to figure out how to get rid of him. Before that, a predicament of the outside world pulled me away once again. break At the start of a new day, I came back to an opportune spot of the real world, and yet the surroundings seemed to be screaming at me not to do this. I could only turn up my music and proceed into the place where time stood still, where the l...

When I returned the following day, Rebecca was sitting on the couch in her brand new living room, holding the ukulele in playing position, but making no sound. Before saying anything, I created myself a form and knocked at the entrance to the living room. In realization of my visit, Rebecca jumped up and nearly tackled me to the ground with a hug. I wasn’t sure where she got the idea that hugging was something to do when happy. It could have been my personality seeping through, but I avoided physical contact in real life. Maybe I created my form too real for her, and the comfort of warmth and skin contact was obvious to her. “Hi, Rebecca,” I said. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for a few days.” She squeezed tighter. “It’s ok,” she said. “You must have been working on all of this somehow, this beautiful place. I’m so happy for this gift, Jack, and I have many questions.” We parted as I watched her eyes reflecting daylight pouring in. It made her ever more beautiful. Surprisingly enough, be...

I support the idea, JJ . You have your character, me, tortured in the story, begging for a way out. I want out, too. The story you’re crafting for me has become a strain on the reader, on the character, and on the author. It’s about time to abort this before you burn your mind up. “The writer, or author, often has to torture the written or the character,” he says. “Besides, what would happen to you if I just shredded that weave? The ‘you’ under the covers of my invisible shroud would know of that erasure, the future that never was. If you think that would not bleed over to the different ‘you’ in the story, you’re being dumb.” Then just erase that part and- “I’m not cutting out my work, Finn,” He interrupts. “There is an ending to this story. You might not like it, but I'll decide how it goes.” alter So he returns, reads over the recent events to catch himself up and lets me speak once more, pen at my neck. What have you come here for? Don’t pretend you want to write about me right ...