Tuesday, November 9, 2021

Microstory 1752: Lyre

I have no idea where I am. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, as long as I can find my way back to the place with the animals and the other things. There isn’t any stuff you eat here. At least I haven’t found anything yet. I just can’t help but try. I keep thinking that there’s a chance of coming across a stockpile in the next place you go into. My wandering partner used to call that the bingpot, and then he’d laugh, but he would never explain the reference. I’m old enough to remember the world as it was before, but I must have missed that joke, wherever it was. I would ask him again, but I don’t know where he is now either. We got separated a week ago when he decided to hunt on his own. I don’t think he abandoned me, I’m sure he just got lost too. Or maybe I did. Some people lost all of their memories when it happened, but not me. According to my friend, there are different types of memory. I can’t remember what they’re called, but one of them makes it harder to recall the stuff in the world. Instead of events, we’re talking cars and plates, and whatever this thing is in the corner. See? I couldn’t even tell you, but bring someone else in here who can’t remember how to walk, and I’m sure they know exactly what it’s for. They wouldn’t be able to operate it, if it’s even something that can be operated, but they could tell you all about it. Okay, I’ll open one more brown woody thing, and then that’s it; I’m getting out of here. Something is inside. It’s a harp, I think, or some other kind of musical instrument anyway. I suppose I shouldn’t guess, since I’m not a doctor. Of course, I impulsively strum it. It sounds beautiful, even though I have no idea how to play. I can’t mess up on this thing. It must be designed for beginners.

I keep playing for a little while, and before I know it, my friend walks into the room. He’s confused, like he doesn’t even know how he got here. I ask him where he’s been all this time, but he doesn’t know, which is weird. I know what you’re thinking, how can that be weird? This whole whatever is full of whatevers who can’t remember stuff, but this guy’s different. He does get disoriented a bit sometimes, but for the most part, his head insides are intact. He could say what that thing in the corner is, he could use it, and he could recount the first time he learned. He tells me that he was in a cave when he heard music, and when he followed it, he suddenly appeared here. No way there are any caves around here, so that doesn’t make any sense. He must have lost time. Some people lose time. They didn’t forget who they were before the attack, but they suddenly wake up every once in a while and can’t remember how they got to wherever it is they are. I think people have died because they don’t remember climbing up on one of those metal hanging things they put over water. Anyway, my companion and I catch up with each other. There is not much to tell, since life is so monotonous these days, and by the end of the night, we’re singing things of strawberries and that meat that looks like something else that you wrap in that flaky golden thing. I strum on the string instrument as well, and at first we think the music has attracted other travelers, but some are from the other side of the whatever. We realize that the instrument is magic, and can conjure anything we want, presumably as long as it’s something that exists somewhere. The other people covet it, so I have to conjure tall whatevers, and spiky you-know-what-I’m-thinking-ofs to protect us. Then we run for our lives.

No comments :

Post a Comment