In My Mind’s Eye

Howdy dear readers!

It is another week and another version of Writing Prompt Wednesday! I am finding this is one of my favourite posts to write as of late. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have loved writing them.

Here we go:

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It was a news broadcast which completely changed the way they looked at me. I knew I had not always been what they needed me to be. I never behaved according to what they referred to as the “typical” kid in their midnight whispers.

I always felt like whispers were ironic things. They are meant to be at a pitch not to be heard by a particular person, but always manage to come at the subject like a shout.

They had just come across another stack of the same old drawings this morning. I thought I had hid them, but now thinking back I might have wanted them to be found. She had muttered under her breath something of which I didn’t care to hear as she threw them into the recycle bin.

Another set gone didn’t faze me. It wasn’t like I drew many different things, I drew the same thing over and over again perhaps with slight variation. It had started out as a spiral when I was three and eventually as I grew older I began to add what could be interpreted as shadowy figures walking towards the centre; walking away. I never drew anything else, ever.

The news anchor’s voice rang out into our living room with breaking news: “All over the world kids are stuck in a state of compulsive sketching.”

They showed footage of kids from every corner of the globe, huddled mechanically sketching on or with whatever was available to them.

We found ourselves back with the newscaster as his hands white knuckled his paper. “It appears to be affecting every child across the globe. Authorities would like to be contacted by any parent whose child might not be under this artistic spell.”  

When they showed an example of this common drawing, I watched my parent’s heads turn to me like one of those creepy porcelain dolls in horror movies. They were all the same image: a spiral with figures moving towards the centre. And I was not in the process of drawing one.

Before they even cut from the drawing back to the anchor, I was being hauled up to my room in a frantic state. I could feel my mother’s fingers grip into the bones of my arms as she tossed me into the darkness and the lock on the door clicked shut with a whisper.

Why is there a lock on the outside of my door do you ask dear readers? It was because not only had I been sketching the same image since before I could talk, but once I did start, I also began to sing:

We spin round and round

As you fall to the ground

For you cannot hold on like we do

And when they all start to draw

You’ll all drop your jaw

Never guessing what we’re up to

One day the kids will all go away

And who’s ever left over will pay

Because no one is there to protect you

 

Well that just happened. I think I managed to creep myself out with this one. Even I had no idea where I was going to go where I just did.

I would love to know your thoughts. Would you add/tweak anything? I need to go watch something a little lighthearted to get me out of this creeped out vibe.

xo

Honestly Austen

Postscript: I got the title from one definition I found on this website: The idea of one’s imagination, or ability to see something from memory or mental creation, as a mind’s eye goes back to at least the 1300s.

 

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