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Parallel Universe Theory: Redux

Here’s a story I started writing in 2021 based on an extremely vivid nightmare I once had. The original version was only as long as the first part of this rewrite, and absolutely everything has been changed. This is my first attempt at ungraded creative writing in at least a decade. Go easy on me. Part 1 The rays of morning light filtered through her curtains, casting a soft glow across the bed, offering a gentle nudge towards wakefulness. Savitri blinked open her eyes, greeted by the soft chaos of her bedroom — books piled high on the nightstand, a sweater draped over a chair from the night before, and her journal lying open, a silent witness to the thoughts that often kept her company in the quiet hours. She reached for the journal, her fingers tracing the worn edges with a familiarity that felt like home. Flipping to the last entry, she expected to find solace in her own words, a breadcrumb trail of yesterday’s thoughts. Instead, she found herself staring at a stranger’s diary. The
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Recent posts

Message to MC

Why are we all expected to just accept everyone's friendship scraps? And its thought of as being "extra" to ask to be treated with respect. Why should I bother calling anyone a friend if I do 90% more for them than they wold ever do for me? I'm not going to try to force anyone to be a real friend to me. But I'm not going to just take what is given to me either. If it isn't worth my time I need to let it go.
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These are Dirty Words

This will take me more than a while to write down only because it has to be done in between my waves of sadness. I don't know how valid my words can be if I spend the entire time trying to describe to you how revolting I find myself to be. ___________________________________________________ I was raped on November 1, 2014 at 3 o'clock in the morning. I have been told that I led him on. I have been told that I dressed too enticingly. I have been told that I was asking for it. I have been told that it's what I really wanted all along. Sometimes I believe none of these things are true. Sometimes I believe they're all true. But this event, life changing that it was, is not the focus of what I'm trying to say. It's all about the after. What happened to me after this. Who I became after this. I'm not even really sure, to be honest. It started with a lot of confusion. Genuine, crippling confusion. Like, in order to cope with day to day life my brain
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There's a boy next to me and he never will be anything but a boy at the bar.

I see you. Over there in the nook to the left of the bar. The shadowy place that no one ever notices unless you’re looking for it. The place I always look because that’s where you always are. And I see you. And I see her. Climbing all over you like some sort of primate. Maybe it’s because you’re so tall. Maybe it’s because she’s the size of a pixie. Either way, I can’t take my eyes away. I feel no jealousy. All I feel is warm. Tequilla. Whisky. Vodka. My blood is a coctail and all I feel is warm and the urge to dance. So I do. I completely forget about you because my needs are more important than you are. And it feels so good. Hair flips. Hip sways. Two steps. It’s wonderful. But then a song I don’t know comes on. And I stop dancing. And I look over. And you’re watching me. How long had I been there? How long had you noticed I was there? “Let’s go get another drink,” my friend says. Followed by a walk to the bar. It’s crowded. I stand back. You make your move. “So where’s your ma
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'Cause I Saw The Light In Your Eyes

I like to think of it less as a kidnapping and more as a rescue. He saved my life before I even knew that I needed saving. He led me away from my boring mundane life with promises of candy and chocolates, and He followed through with just that. At first, I was a bit scared of this strange older man. You see, at the time I was young – only 9 – and I knew nothing about life or adventure or love. All I needed was a push in the right direction, and the back of His windowless Ford Econoline was just the direction I needed to go. At first I missed my parents something fierce. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to see them anymore. But He explained to me very early on that they didn’t want me anymore. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Mom had grounded me a few weeks prior for no good reason. So what if I don’t finish my peas. And Dad agreed with her! Plus, that one time when I told them that Billy Christopher was picking on me, they only told me that he had a crush o
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TL;DR

I found this today. I wrote it sometime last winter. It proves I'm insane, at least. ----------------------------------------------------------- If I told you a story right now would it matter? Would you care? Would it make you smile. My similes of unicorns and tiled bathroom floors. The kind that makes them cold when you walk inside first thing in the morning with no socks on. I hate those days. I wake up too quickly afterwards. Like growing up too fast. Being forced to do things before the time is right. The right time. When is the wright time. The wrist time. I'm just enjoying the feel of wri wri wri wri wire. That's what I am by the way. I'm wired. I'm keyed up and I'm making no sense am I. Who say's I need to make sense. I'm a writer. I can turn anything into something beautiful just because I feel like it. Just because I say that I can. Just like those crappy artists. The ones that paint squares and a circle on a canvas and get to call it art.
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Words.

If there were a way to see inside of me it would look like a storm.  A tornado.  A tsunami.  There is too much rolling around inside with no way to get out.  I could scream and yell and bitch and rant and not a one in the world would hear me.  I'm ripping apart and my screws are coming lose and soon there will be nothing left of me but shreds.  Paper in a fire.  Ash in the wind.  I'm not damaged, I'm conflicted and I'm perceived all wrong.  Maybe there is just no right way to interpret me.  I'm wrong. It's wrong. All wrong.
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