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 handwriting was hers, no doubt, but the memories? They didn’t belong to her.
June 15th,
Today held a quiet kind of beauty, the type that sneaks up on you when you aren’t especially looking for it. Julian and I found sanctuary in a little-known café, hidden just beyond the clamor of Main Street a few towns over. It's a small, cozy nook where the world seems to slow down, and for a moment, the constant shadows trailing my steps felt a bit lighter. I tried a lavender latte on a whim—its flavor, surprisingly calming, like a whispered promise of peace amidst the chaos of my thoughts.
The evening brought a rare sense of openness to the city, its streets glowing under the tender sunset, each face carrying the echo of an untold story. A street musician's melody lingered in the air, a bittersweet symphony that somehow mirrored the tattered tapestry of my own story, weaving through the crowd—a momentary connection to the world around me, fleeting yet profound.
Today was a reminder that joy can be found even in the most unexpected places, a gentle nudge towards healing in a world that often feels too sharp, too real. Yet, in these small moments, I find the strength to look forward, to believe in the possibility of brighter days. A fragile hope for tomorrow."
Savitri chuckled, the sound bouncing around her too-quiet room. "Must've been sleepwriting again," she murmured, a half-hearted attempt to brush off the unease that settled into her chest. She was great at creating stories, but this? This was a bit much, even for her vivid imagination.
Determined not to let it ruin her day, she swung her legs out of bed, the cool touch of the floor grounding her. But even the texture of the wood felt different under her feet, smoother, as if it had aged differently, its surface less familiar than it should have been. And there, just at the edge where the nightstand met the wall, was the faint outline of a water ring—evidence of a glass's presence, yet she always took her water glass back to the kitchen before sleeping.
As she moved through her morning routine, each step felt like a scene from a play she hadn't rehearsed — familiar, yet oddly out of sync.
The world outside her window buzzed with the usual rhythm of city life, but as she made her way to the kitchen, even the coffee tasted like betrayal. "Since when do I buy skim milk?" she wondered aloud, staring at the carton with suspicion. Strange. The Savitri she knew was a staunch defender of whole milk.
Julian's message popped up on her phone, bright and cheerful. "Ready to conquer the day?!!" it read. Savitri smiled, the comfort of his friendship a balm to her spiraling thoughts. Yet, even his words felt slightly off. Had Julian always used exclamations this liberally?
As the day unfolded, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, just slightly, enough to be disorienting. The coffee shop on the corner, her refuge in the midst of urban chaos, had a different vibe — the lighting harsher, the barista's smile too sharp. When had they changed the seating arrangements?
And then, unexpectedly, there was Victor Grimsby. Charming, funny, quick-witted Victor, with a smile that could disarm the most guarded hearts. Today, however, his jokes were told with an edge Savitri couldn’t place, leaving a lingering aftertaste. His normally haughty laughter lingering in the air, a wrong note held too long.
"Victor," Savitri greeted, her voice steadier than she suddenly felt.
"Savitri! It's been much too long. You look... well, you know always look amazing," Victor said, his smile wide, but something in his gaze made Savitri’s heart race in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant.
"Thanks, I... How have you been?" she choked, smile quite reaching her eyes, caught in the gravitational pull of his charisma, drawn in despite the sudden, inexplicable surge of apprehension that tightened around her chest.
"Oh, you know me, always on the move. Busy, busy, busy. But enough about my boring escapades; I heard you’ve been doing great things. Your articles, your photos…you’ve really carved out a niche for yourself.” Victor’s tone was light, yet Savitri couldn’t shake the probing, almost invasive, edge to his interest.
"Just the usual grind, nothing as exciting as it seems," Savitri deflected, attempting to steer the conversation away from the spotlight he seemed intent to shine on her. She laughed, a sound that rang more like a defense mechanism than an expression of amusement.
"Ah, but it’s the usual grind that keeps the world turning, isn’t it?" Victor mused, his laughter echoing a beat too long. "We should catch up, really. How about dinner? My treat. We can relive the old days, talk about new parts we’ve embarked on."
Savitri felt a knot form in her stomach. "I don’t know, Victor. I’ve been... really tied up lately. With work."
"Nonsense. It’ll be fun. You remember fun, don’t you, Savitri?" There was a lightness in his words, but it carried an undercurrent that unsettled her further, a reminder of something unspoken that lingered between them.
"Yeah, of course, I do," she replied, her intuition a whisper of warning was unable to decipher. "Let me think about it and get back to you."
"Sure, take your time. But don’t make me wait too long. I’m not a man known for his patience," he said, the statement hanging in the air between them, a veiled pressure that felt more like a demand than a request.
As Victor walked away, his departure felt like a heavy weight being lifted, the imprint of his presence lingering, leaving Savitri to grapple with the waves of unease that washed over her. The encounter, brief as it was, disturbed the relative calm of her day, leaving her with more questions than answers.
By the time she returned to the sanctuary of her apartment, the day felt like a leaden suit she couldn't wait to shed. She was Savitri, yes, but the reflections staring back from the mirror of her day were fractured, pieces of a mosaic she didn't remember creating.
Sitting down with her journal once again, Savitri penned a new entry, her words a mix of confusion and defiant clarity. "Today felt like walking through a dream," she wrote, "one where everything is familiar, yet nothing makes sense. But if this is a dream, then I’m determined to find the wake-up call."
In the quiet of her room, surrounded by the artifacts of her life, Savitri Brathwaite found herself on the cusp of a mystery that stretched the very fabric of her reality. And like any good story, the next chapter promised an adventure — one that would challenge her understanding of the world, and more importantly, of herself.
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