Tick Tock [short story]

[t]hey are my footprint

Saturday, July 20th, XXXX ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀05:36

United States of America

NXX XXXX

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I just get the urge to write sometimes.

It doesn’t matter if the sun has barely crawled over the horizon yet. I will grab a piece of paper and a pen or a pencil and sit down and it all just comes pouring out. There’s no effort in it. Recording has never been hard to me.

I’m not a writer or an author. I will never choose a career in writing. I am not one of those people. I do not love to write.

I love to record, and there is a difference. It’s like the difference between fire and firefly. I write what happens. I write what I think.

I don’t create a world. I have no interest in that.

I don’t want to forget this world or escape it, as artists do. I know I seemed to have called myself one a few entries back. But I am not them. I associate with them. But I’m not them. 

What I do is remember. Remember every little detail. Recall the things that we, as humans, seem to have forgotten about in our race against life. We are always hurrying, hurrying, hurrying to complete our lives and finish everything we’ve ever wanted to do in the short time we are given.

So I try to record what we have forgotten.

The mundane things in life.

I try to write the things that, if anyone finds in the world I am thinking of, they will read it. And it will become my footprint, and I will be a “Lucy.”