Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-5888665-20151002020203

I recently posted a story. It was deleted after about a day. I was hoping I could get some criticism so as to improve it.

"In Your Head"

Today I set out to write a story. I didn't have anything particular in mind. I considered, perhaps, recounting one of my dreams; or, heaven forbid, writing a 'fan fiction.' I sat at my desk mindlessly typing away. I was sure I had been at it for at least half an hour. I was sure that it wasn't purely stream of conscious either. I was sure I had, at least, an idea at the foundation. I even felt proud of myself, not only for actually sitting down and writing for a change, but for how much I had accomplished. I decided that I had earned a break. I ctrl s'd, logged off my computer, and went outside for some fresh cancer.

We aren't allowed to smoke on campus, so I had to stand on the street corner across from school. Every so often a car would slow down when they got close and yell out the window “How much?!” at me. If only there were actually buyers interested in my product. I could use the money; and I could damn sure use the company.

My dorm room might as well be solitary confinement. I have a roommate, but he's never there. I leave the room for classes, meals, and cigarettes. When I'm not in my room I'm somewhat social. I talk to people. They talk to me. They know my name. I know most of theirs. But in all honesty, it's mostly just formalities. I'm sure they can all tell how difficult it is for me to even do that much. Most of the time I just sit in my room alone. I'll study, watch anime, movies, and videos on YouTube. On occasion I get the opportunity to play online games with friends. But most of the time it's just me and my room; everything else might as well not exist. In fact, sometimes it feels like it is all that exists; like the world outside my room isn't there at all until it's needed. I freak myself out sometimes by comparing it to software on my computer. My desktop is always there, but the other software only runs when I command it to.

When I find myself standing on that corner, this is the type of stuff that runs through my head. On this occasion, however, there was something different. As I was standing there I had a troubling thought pass through my head. ''How did I get here? ''I didn't remember anything that had happened between my room and the stop sign. It was almost like I had teleported. I made my way back to my room, taking special care to take note of everything between the two points. ''There's the dumpster, the bike racks, the doors to the other dorm, the grill, the doors to my dorm, the TV room, the laundry room, the door to my wing, the door to my room, my room, my desk, my chair, and my computer. ''As I passed each benchmark, the memory of having seen them on my way out came back, and put my mind at ease. I guessed I had just zoned out. I'd made that trek so many times that my mind must have decided that it wasn't important enough to take notice of anymore.

I sat at my computer, logged back on, and loaded up the story I had been working on. It was almost entirely blank. There were 4 pages of nothing except for one sentence at the bottom of the last page that read, “I'm in your head.” I was furious. I convinced myself that someone had come into my room and messed with what I had written. I immediately clicked “Edit” at the top of the page to see if I could “redo” anything that was deleted. I couldn't. I grew even more frustrated. After staring at the screen, shaking and red-faced, for somewhere around 15 minutes; I took a deep breath and told myself, ''it’s just a prank. If I let them see that it got to me it will just put a bigger target on my back.''

With my desk chair leaned back as far as it could go, my feet on the shelf underneath my desk (which seems to serve no other purpose) and one butt cheek actually in the chair; I started another attempt at writing a story. But when my fingers hit the keyboard, I realized I couldn't remember anything that I had typed before. Having just went through a similar struggle with my journey outside, I decided to try and retrace my steps. Logged off, saved, and...And... I couldn't remember anything before that other than the sound of my fingers hitting keys.

I decided it might be a good idea to write about what had just happened to me. As my fingers hit the keys I felt a strange wind of nostalgia. I tried to chalk it up to having, just minutes before, experienced the events I was describing. But that wasn't it. There was something about the words appearing on the screen that made me feel uneasy. It was as if I had typed all of this before. No, I'm sure I had. But the words appearing in my head were fresh. It wasn't until they hit the screen that I began feeling that awkward familiarity.

After typing for another hour, I lifted my hands to my forehead and ran my fingers through my hair and noticed that I had been sweating rather badly. I instinctively looked at my hands for confirmation. As it turns out, they were wet. I don't know why I would have thought there may be some other outcome. But as I held my hands out in front of me, I noticed that my shirt was drenched in sweat. It's strange that I didn't even notice the feeling of wet cloth clinging to my skin until it was acknowledged visually. Why is it so hot in here? I checked the thermostat and it wasn't any hotter than it had been the rest of the day; but I felt like I was in a sauna. It's strange how our mind creates false sensations when exposed to certain stimuli as if it's trying to motivate a certain reaction out of us like: Maybe I should go outside and cool off.

Before I did that I had to make sure no one would come in and mess with my creation while I was gone. I changed the file name to “World Lit Syllabus.” Satisfied that no one would see anything interesting enough in this title to go prying; I saved, logged off, locked my door, and went outside. This time I took special care to take note of my surroundings as I made the journey. Three doors on the left, the door for my wing, the office, the staircase, a TV room with 2 love seats and 3 chairs, the door outside...and so on. I won’t have to worry about that happening again.

I made it to my corner, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. As I did, a lamp post about 15 feet away went out. ''It seems like that always happens. ''I wasn't confident enough to completely leave it to coincidence, so naturally I prepared for my imminent confrontation with whatever manner of monster was waiting to be revealed when the light kicked back on. I finished my cigarette and began walking back to the dorms while taking special care not to take my eyes off that light post. I scanned my card once I got to the doors of my dorm and let out a sigh of relief when I made it inside and the doors closed behind me. I've beaten you this time beast!

I felt confident as I walked back to my room after my triumph over my unknown adversary. I even jumped and clicked my heels together once I got near my room. I was feeling good, and couldn't help but think that trip outside was exactly what I needed.

I sat down at my computer and opened up “World Lit Syllabus” and came face to face with a document that repeated “I’m in your head” 40000 times. I don’t think I had ever been so angry. I was sure I locked my door. Someone had to be in my room. I was sure of it. I tore my room apart looking for the perpetrator. I even pulled all of my clothes out of the dresser, just in case there was an underpants gnome living by the mantra “Step 1: Screw with Jonny. Step 2 “…” Step 3: Profit.” When I went to check the bathroom I half expected to see an old, naked, woman bathed in blood in my shower. When I was satisfied no one was in my room I had convinced myself that the next time I turned to the computer it would read “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

And that brings us to where we are now. I’ve recounted the events as I remember them; and this time I’m making sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m posting my story to every avenue I can possibly think of. I’ve cleared my cookies and saved passwords. I’ve changed all of my passwords. Once this hits the web, whoever (or whatever) has been tormenting me will have no way of reversing my progress again. So job well done on my part. I only wish I hadn’t smoked my last cigarette.

Author's Notes: The story is about addiction and how it can manipulate someone both mentally and physiologically. The hyperbole used is meant to work in conjuncture with how much more impairments effect someone left to handle them by themselves; and their own unwillingness to admit the fault is  their own. The allusion to The Shining in the end is meant to tie things together before the final line "I only wish I hadn't smoked my last cigarette."

 Criticism is welcome and I will answer questions about any subject matter that you may be confused about.

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