The Diary of The Deranged Writer

2019

One humid yet emotionally cold afternoon, I was missing someone more than usual, even though it had been months since our bridge burned. And then I remembered it was that person’s birthday. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to send a simple, casual greeting for the occasion, so I pulled my phone, quickly texted it, and went on with my normally depressing day.

Past midnight, after pigging out on my third plate of baked macaroni in four hours, I took my nightly medicine and dozed off. There, I was teleported to a part of dreamland I’d never been before, and I’m a pretty vivid dreamer. I entered this almost-vast coliseum-like courtroom with chains covering the ceiling, and people were in their chairs like confident judges. After a minute, my eyes became much clearer: the ones in their seats were alternate versions of me.