Image by Mark Renney
Despite the lack of evidence, Carter was utterly convinced he was missing a body part, that he had lost something, a piece of himself. He couldn’t stop checking and wherever he might be he would hold his hands up in front of his face and count off the fingers. Or was it a bit of his ear or part of his nose? Or was there a hole in his forehead or in his side or was it a toe? No matter that he always rediscovered he was complete, that nothing had gone astray, he didn’t feel reassured. But he had no scars nor wounds. All of him was in its place and working properly.
Carter decided that if he could pinpoint exactly when and where it had happened he would be able to move beyond it and stop obsessing. He had been suffering from this strange affliction for no more than three months and so the time frame was at least narrow. He was a creature of habit and lead a routine existence, his movements confined. Even so, retracing each and every step he had taken during that time would be difficult.
Carter took the same route to work each day. He walked the same pavements and rode on the same bus. He frequented the same café and pub close to the office and a newsagents nearer to home. He shopped at the same supermarket on Saturday mornings.
He realised that he could have dropped ‘it’ anywhere, whatever ‘it’ was. One of his fingers perhaps or a thumb or an eye. He could, of course, have lost it at the office, and someone else had picked it up and taken it or mistaken it for rubbish and thrown it away. But Carter sensed that it hadn’t happened like this. Not at the office, nor at home nor even on the bus. No, he had lost it out on the street whilst walking en route to elsewhere. In transit as it were. And he had lost it in the way one might lose a wallet or a watch or a single ten pound note. The chances of finding it now were almost non-existent though Carter didn’t need to find it but simply to remember.
Carter quickly understood that his world was small and although he had believed it would be difficult re-tracing his footsteps and remembering what he had done and where he had been it had proved depressingly easy. As he moved through the familiar streets, searching again and again, he became more and more aware of how intricate the City was and how dense.
He rifled through the waste bins and sifted through the detritus and debris gathered at the curb side and in the gaps between the buildings. He scoured along all but forgotten pathways and cut-throughs. At first these ran parallel with his old routes but gradually he was pulled further and further from his little patch of the City and he was exploring parts that were completely alien. He realised also that anything lost would remain lost but he wasn’t able to stop looking, not quite yet.
I like the idea behind this, Mark. What is bizarre is that I have recently written a short story part of which concerns a character undergoing a similar experience. Hmm, makes you think!
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Thank you Chris. I’m looking forward to reading your story!
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Thanks, Mark. Problem is it’s 9000+ words – a bit long for a post I feel!
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it´s called how your story, or you have the link?
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I wonder if it would work if you posted in instalments?
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Possibly – it is divided into sections – but I wonder whether many readers would find the time (or indeed want) to follow a story over several days. Thanks for the suggestion though, I will give it some thought.
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loss is hard and your story ( and picture) is great! I realized that we ofen loose things or persons without notice. You just realize one day they are not there anymore. To loose conscious is hard, because you start asking question and think about. This can bring you pain and of course you search still for a while until you accept that you will not find anymore.
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Thank you so much for taking the time to comment.
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Reblogged this on The Brokedown Pamphlet and commented:
I have a new post on Hijacked Amygdala.
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there are some authors writing stories devided into sections. And I love to follow them!
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