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Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2239373
it is a bit odd don't you think
Being forgotten shouldn't be a problem right? What if when you were forgotten you began to disappear? The whole mythology of The Dia de Los Muertos revolves around keeping your deceased loved ones close to the heart lest they fade from memory and existence, but that isn't true for live people is it?

I crawled from my bed like a monitor lizard with a hangover. My head felt stuffed with cotton and I could taste soured Jack Daniels as I licked the absolutely dry roof of my mouth with an even drier tongue. What had I been thinking last night?
I shuffled to the bathroom grateful that I had closed the blackout curtains before passing out. Stupidly I flicked on the light. Four globe lightbulbs shone in my eyes and reflected brightly from all the wonderful white porcelain tile. It was like two medieval lances had been shoved through my eyes. I smelled vomit and proceeded to add to it. What had I been thinking last night?

I splashed cold water in my face without reopening my eyes to the mirror. It would just show me the image of the world's biggest hangover. Blearily I recalled what had initiated my drinking binge. My boss had passed me over for the promotion. Not only hadn't I gotten the raise and the corner office, but the man had also stared me in the face and asked me who I was. I was escorted from my job of fifteen years by security. They didn't even let me retrieve my effects from my cubicle. I guess it was their way of firing me.

After using the toilet I left the bathroom. Back in my bedroom, I flopped back on the mattress. I guess I should find a new job. I reached for my phone and checked for messages. Nothing, not that I expected any, people rarely thought to call me. I dialed my mom's number. This felt like something I should share with her.

The phone rang for a while then I heard her pick up, "Hello? Who is this?"

I chuckled, she never seemed to remember she had caller id. "Mom, it's me."

"Look buddy, I don't have a son! Stop calling me!" She shouted. I blinked.

"Mom? It's Jimmy!"

"I am hanging up to dial the police!" The line went dead.

Suddenly fully sober, I sat up in bed. This wasn't funny. I dialed Carl, my best friend. It rang for quite a while, before he picked up, "Look, whoever you are. I don't want a magazine subscription, or to change my insurance, or to buy aftermarket coverage on the car I don't own. Take me off your stupid list!" He hung up on me before I could even speak.

I flicked on the lamp. That was when I saw my alarm clock through my arm. I rushed to the bathroom and stared at the mirror. I could see the tile of the shower through my head in the mirror. I was completely transparent. Had I died? Was I a ghost? I ran back into the bedroom and searched the pockets of my pants for my wallet. My pants were transparent too.
In my wallet, I had three bucks two credit cards and my driver's license. I examined my license. My picture was fading, my name and vital data were already gone. That didn't happen when you died. Things like that stayed behind when you went to the great beyond.

I had no frame of reference for what was going on. I pulled on my clothes though my body had faded almost completely away. Had everyone forgotten me? Is that what happened? I mean I was completely average, hard to notice sometimes, but d does that mean I don't exist?

I ran through my apartment looking for signs that I lived there. I never had pictures of myself put up. The books and magazines on the shelves could belong to anyone. The same was true of every other thing on display. Did I have no personality. It was almost like I was a figment of my own imagination. Was I? A figment of the imagination? A dream? What if I woke up? Am I...







Prompt for Screams contest 12/9/2020
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