Flash Fiction, 212 words. The life of someone who is only present for a portion of it.
|As a youngster, I noticed the problem even before my parents.
At age three, I remember staring at a garbage truck making its collections on the street.
Fascinated I was of those humongous vehicles, they had my rapt attention.
These eyes flickered for just a moment.
When I looked again, it was gone.
It had only just arrived when I saw it, yet there it went in a flash.
Since that moment, I’ve never stopped having those experiences, they’ve only become stronger.
Days switch to nights.
Daylight to twilight.
Dawn to dusk.
I could stare at a tub of toothpaste at the grocery store and then find myself sat in a taxi outside my own house.
I could be out sunbathing to find myself catching the beams of the moon instead.
I could open a bottle of milk then discover it’s gone off before I’ve had the chance to use it.
It’s gotten so bad, Monday to Sunday has no meaning anymore. By the time I’ve remembered one, two may have passed. Weekends emulsify to weekdays and visa versa.
Valentine’s day I’m alone.
Easter I’m hopeless.
July 4th I’m independent to everybody else.
On birthdays I’m lifeless.
Weddings I’m not committed.
Christmas I’m hardly ever-present.
That’s the life of a chronic narcoleptic.