Onsite Theatre Commission: Day 8 (Playground Submission Excerpt)

X is for by wd.farmer (flickr)

Excerpt from Just Us League: Beginnings

The first thing I remember. Like at all. Of anything. Is people yelling, “Holy shit! Hey copyboy!? Copyboy!?” I open my eyes and I’m on this pile of rubble with my whole body on fire. Not like “on fire” on fire, but like burning from the inside of my bones. I’m in some office in some skyscaper, only this skyscraper’s got a huge fucking hole in the side of it now. Apparently, I was some clerk working for some firm and this meteor or asteroid or something—some piece of some planet—comes crashing through the wall and into the Xerox machine I’m working on, making it explode. Explode into me. Only I don’t got a scratch on me. It exploded through me. Like this copy machine’s particles just glided through me.

I go home to a wife I don’t know, to a baby I don’t know: a life I don’t know. But apparently, I was just some normal guy living a mediocre life that I wasn’t particularly fond of. Got this girl knocked up. Working some shit job to pay for the kid’s diapers. Probably spent everyday at that copier wishing I were somebody else, doing something special with my life.

Doctors said I would start remembering things and I do, just not my past: All that stuff I forgot about my childhood and whatnot: that’s gone for good. Everything else though: I start remembering that. And I’m talking EVERYTHING else. Every word of every conversation. Everything I read or saw, or didn’t even “see” but, you know, my vision just “took in.” Doctors said there were cases of a brain trauma giving people photographic memories, but this wasn’t like that. It wasn’t just images. It was all of it. It was like reliving every experience over again all the time all at once.

photocopies 020 by photocopythis (flickr)

I started being . . . unpleasant to be around . . . and my wife took the kid. I had a lot of . . . anger, in those days. I took up cage fighting, I guess to see if someone could beat my brain out of my head or something, I don’t know. But then I got really good at it because not only did I remember every move of every martial art ever taught, I started remembering every move of every opponent that got in the cage with me, so it was like I knew what they were going to do before they did. From there, it was just a small leap to fighting criminals. Not like I had anything else to live for.

So why’d you quit?

People aren’t meant to live with that kind of shit. Not all the time. We’re built to forget stuff. Some stuff we need to forget, you know. There’s plenty of stuff that happened that I would sooner forget…

But you just said you can’t.

That’s why I’m looking for a way back in.


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