Story Ideas and Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt #23: Emotional imprints

https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i703um/wp_every_piece_of_art_receives_an_imprint_of_the/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3

It's always been hard to explain. It felt like trying to explain light to someone who couldn't see. It was just. . . Always there. A gentle caress against my senses. A slow song could play, and I would feel the heavy weight of thousands of people's tears settle on my shoulders. When playing a videogame, I'd feel the elation of someone finally solving a puzzle whisper in my ears.

Every form of art had emotional ties. But the strngth of the emotions varied. Fresh pieces' emotions were faint, the artist's melancholy on a portrait of someone who had passed. A sense of pride hovering around a quilt. The more people who saw the art, experienced it, the stronger emotions became. It thousands had seen it, the emotions felt like a storm, roiling around me until I gave the piece the attention it craved. Then the emotions would settle, the blows it flung my way turning into soft fingers tousling my hair.

Over time, it began to be too much. Any room with paintings on the wall would scream at me. Ripping and teating at my attention until I couldn't focus. So I tore the posters off th walls in my home. I sold them online, practically begged people to come and take them away. I sold all my books, my video games, even most of my wardrobe. But I could still feel them. The rushing emotions, angry at my neglecting them, worsened. I couldn't stand going outside anymore. I quit my job. I'd order food online. But they didn't stop.

People would come to check on me. Their clothes dripping with hopes and love, drowning me in the sea of other people's feelings. I stopped answering the door.

As I sit here now, in the dark shadows of my room, I can hear the rustling of sadness through the trees, can feel my house's foundation shake as anger bangs on my walls. Can see happiness trying to slip through the gaps in my locked and barricaded windows. But I won't let them in. I refuse to feel another person's life again.

I'm sorry it had to be this way. I wish I could be more gentle about it, but if you're reading this. . . ? Well, you already know what I've done.

I love you all. I'm sorry.