That morning I opened my eyes to a blinding light falling on to my bed. I pressed my hands into the white sheets, helping myself to sit up. There was someone in my room, waiting with his back turned towards me.
There was a tint of nostalgia in these tall white walls. Warming rays of sun behind me revealed dusty air streams. As my body slowly moved, my hands recognised a surface beneath me is actually a reclined office chair.
Without saying a word the human in the room moved towards me. I didn’t have a second to recognise the face as his hands wrapped around me. Confused, my body found the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart comforting.
Battling for my memories about who I am and what they want from me, I spent my day looking out of the window. Like a lab rat trapped into this by god forbidden place. I couldn’t see anything else around – just yellow fields.
As the sun was getting closer to the horizon, the man I saw earlier came into my room. He signalled me to come with him. And I followed.
We came outside and I felt the tiny breeze on my neck as for the first time in ages. The sun was still so boiling, I could feel it frying up my hair pigment. I stepped forward, moving towards the main road I felt little stones and sandy dirt under my feet. And tears would start to run down my cheeks as I forgave myself for not knowing where I am or with who I am with. The sight became that much lighter then.
Now willingly and at peace with the situation, we took a little stroll around the area. No cars and no houses could be seen. It was just us and the beautiful yellow plains suffering under the sun.
Every Saturday I write a piece of Flash Fiction and I try to describe how the world looks and feels through Highly Sensitive Person’s eyes.
Although this time I thought to see how far I came with my flash fiction writing skills by editing one of my earliest flash fiction on this blog.
Since this story was based on my dream, I left some hints towards that in the previous version. But recently I learned that it is actually something to avoid in writing because it is just overused. So hopefully this version is somehow better than the other, and I have improved at least a tiny bit.
And I decided to rename the story because I think this is how it can feel for some people with dementia. I know a lot of people who work with it or have it in their family. But from the point of view of people who actually suffer from dementia, I can only imagine how unsafe and unrecognisable the world can look for them.
Thank you for reading my weekly fiction, see you next Thursday for more information about Highly Sensitive People.
(Featured image source here.)