spinning spinning spinning

This isn't right. You remember. You remember what happened and this isn't right. You don't know what happened because you weren't here, here didn't exist, this isn't right, you should be there, with them, with the trolls and your friends, with the king and jack, with that big green monster. You shouldn't be here. This isn't right.

Your mind is working a mile a minute only if minutes were going in reverse. A flash of fingertips burning, smoking, across the surface of records spinning so fast over gears it makes you dizzy just thinking about it. It's all happening but it isn't, you're cradling your head, whimpering, because it's all there, but it's not there, and from the base of your very core you know this isn't right.

This isn't right.

You tear your body from the blankets, screaming, fingers buried deep in your hair, thick glasses sent askew. This isn't right this isn't right where is here where is he what's going on no no no no no what happened why didn't they warn you why didn't they tell you you must have lost you must have failed no no no no no.

Staggering, tripping, you scorn and scream, kicking the pair of discarded arms. They're new, clean, no cake, why isn't there cake, why isn't your room right, your room isn't right this isn't RIGHT. Your memories are running backwards and it's making your vision swim and your brain squirm and no- no you're losing them, you're losing them you can't lose them they're your memories you can't lose them.

Your lungs begin to hurt and your heart thumps wildly inside of your chest as you try to find your glasses, fumbling over things on the floor- smoke pellets- hammer- no no no no no where did they go you can't lose them you can't lose your memories this isn't right no no no you have to remember. You have to remember.

Dead. They were all dead you saw it they'd died but they didn't because your memory is going backward and you're losing it, you're losing them. You cup your hands hurriedly over your ears, yelling for it to stop, claiming you'd trapped it with your palms that it can't go. Tears scorch the pale skin of your cheeks as you stagger to your feet.

You have to remind yourself you have to write this down you have to you have to you're going to die oh gog you're going to drop dead and nobody will ever even know because the record is spinning and spinning and the mesa- the beat mesa, you remember, you Scratched it, but that isn't right, that isn't the record that's spinning. Stop, you have to tell it to STOP.

This isn't right. You remember shades and blonde hair but name- what was his name- there were others but you can't see them anymore, they're foggy. Grey skin. Black hair. So foggy.

Spinning spinning spinning, burning the skin from the tips of his fingers, you see blood, you can't stop it.

This isn't right.

You start attacking your desk. Orks. Or..ks. Monsters. You remember monsters but there were others, not just- not just- you JUST had it and now you can't remember. It's leaving and you're screaming but it won't LISTEN. Dead dead dead dead so much blood but you can't make it stop because it won't listen and you don't know what to do oh what do you do you're the leader the friendleader what do you do.

Your breath is so ragged and uneven that you have to stop your fumbling to wretch a few times, but in vain. It's good, you think, because you don't have anything to puke in nearby- but- but you should have a bucket why would you have a bucket there's something wrong but you can't remember why can't you remember?

Why are you so short?

You finally find something. A marker. You swear and scream and sob as it spins and spins and spins and you don't even know what it is anymore but it's spinning and hot and hurts. You tear the top off of the marker but you can't remember what you didn't want to forget.

You're losing it. You're losing it fast. Focus. Focus focus focus focus-

Imps. There were imps. And TT (fuck what was her name?) and- and- and harlequins. There were harlequins. Grandma was a harlequin. You can't forget. You have to remember.

You haul yourself up onto your bed and start writing as fast as you can, pressing the marker hard against the wall, smeering and crushing the tip and writing all of the words funny and shoot you're left handed this isn't working it's just getting rubbed away immediately but you feel like you should be able to dry it why do you suddenly feel like there's no air?

Harlequins harlequins harlequins over and over and over write it everywhere you can't forget you can't forget it's spinning and this is so wrong but you can't forget because if you forget then it's gone and it hurts oh dear gog it hurts make it stop.

You write it again and again; it's covering your walls, your hands, your face- the blue is everywhere, dark and messy, like oil spills- oil spills are important but you can't remember it what does that mean.

The thick pain scattering your thoughts is ebbing. It's slowing. Slowing but spinning and spinning and slowing. And slowing..

Harlequin what does.. what.. does.. what....

---

Your name is John Egbert, and it is your thirteenth birthday- finally. You've been waiting for this for what seems like forever. You can smell cake waiting to be avoided but when you start to get up you realize there's ink on your hands. You glance over to find a broken marker and wonder if you had done something with it last night. You feel like you forgot something, but nothing else seems out of place. It doesn't matter, though, because you are almost positive this is the day your beta copy of SBURB will finally be coming in.