This short story has some small inspiration from my childhood, so some references might be a bit strange. I guess I could say i can dedicate it to Johnny 😉
I think, therefore I might be
by Kristina Georgieva
His gaze was meaningless in the drought of the desert. Lost in a mirage of his dreams. Flattened by the last few memories that he had left of her.
He remembered her as a child, playing games in the garden. He remembered how they had met, as she played alone in pillow fortresses and blanket tropical bunkers. How they re-enacted adventure movies together after returning from the cinema. How they laughed when Tom Sawyer fooled the other children into painting the fence. How they cried when King Arthur died. How they wrote letters to Sophi’s secret philosophy teacher.
He walked among the desolate dunes contemplating his loneliness, remembering her laugh. Could he really understand loneliness, or was he just alone? After all, there were others like him among the dunes.
A large teddy hare in blue pyjamas emerged from the sand and began hopping away. “Hey!!” he screamed, but the hare paid no attention to him. He was used to this behaviour, they never noticed his presence. He wasn’t angry, they were probably as lonely as he was.
As he continued walking he noticed an artefact attempting to disappear into the red sand. A teddy bear. He remembered it, she had named her Sophi. He never thought that Sophi would end up here too, but in the end, they all did.
He selected a dune to sit on, one that provided a view of the endless desert. He thought, or so he believed, about his years to come. Could this really be his own thought, or was it a thought grown from her own doubts. He still did not understand all of it, it had been ten years since they had last spoken. How was his situation even possible?
He remembered their last conversation. After that conversation, he had found himself in a desert of memories. Aimlessly unburying the past. Alone, like she was before they had met.
Why did he still exist? Could he exist independently of her. Did this state even translate to some form of existence? If not, what was he now but a memory? How could a memory feel and experience this emptiness? How could a memory remember?
He watched the desert from his hill. He noticed the occasional stuffed animal crawl out of the sand and wonder aimlessly among the dunes. He wondered whether he would be happier having been a stuffed toy. Did they even understand their own despair?
He sometimes also wondered whether he would become one with the universe when she did. Would he even notice when she was gone, or was he stuck in this draining desert for the rest of eternity? At least the little prince had baobabs to remove from his asteroid, what purpose did he serve in this world?
In the end, he was not even sure whether he had been her creation, or if she had been his. All that he wished was that a world as lonely as his was, in fact, the imaginary one.
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