#wdigw

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Where Did I Go Wrong?” by AKNeutron (1999) Published by: AKWare [WDIGW.ZZT] - “Title screen” Play This World Online

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Where Did I Go Wrong?” by AKNeutron (1999) Published by: AKWare [WDIGW.ZZT] - “ritarepulsa 2” Play This World Online

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Where Did I Go Wrong?” by AKNeutron (1999) Published by: AKWare [WDIGW.ZZT] - “Title screen” Play This World Online

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Where Did I Go Wrong?” by AKNeutron (1999) Published by: AKWare [WDIGW.ZZT] - “sddljmf” Play This World Online

[worldsofzzt]

Source “Where Did I Go Wrong?” by AKNeutron (1999) Published by: AKWare [WDIGW.ZZT] - “sddljmf” Play This World Online

[mrsquinnjamesevans-blog]

Where did I go wrong? || Quinn. || Self-para.

The words ran through Quinn’s mind, lines from something that had happened years before. Now, she couldn’t get rid of them, just heard them, loudly and clearly, echoed and spoken by different voices. Quinn sat on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She had a book laid out in the middle of the bed, and she’d been staring at it for somewhere around twenty minutes. In the pages she was staring at a photo, a photo she’d glanced at fast and nervously. She’d put it down, throwing it away from her quickly. She didn’t know what the photo meant, and that scared Quinn more. Quinn's mind hurt, a throbbing in her temple she wasn’t totally aware of. It seemed more distant, like a knocking on the front door. Quinn slowly moved her eyes from the note to the window, no light coming through. There wasn’t any now, and Quinn was slightly surprised; the last time she’d looked at the window, it’d been bright and shining.

Quinn crossed the room to her window, and put her hand against the curtain, all her movements slow, her mind not at it’s usual speed. Quinn ran her hand along the sheet before clenching it between her fingers, and pulling hard, tearing the curtain down. She let go of it, letting it slide down to the floor. Quinn’s movements, from then on, were faster, angrier. She wanted to destroy everything in her path, and she’d be damned if she didn’t. Quinn took long strides toward her desk, opening the drawers, rifling through the paper. Hidden under notebooks and books and piles of paper was a box, kept hidden from anyone who might come in her room. She opened it slowly, almost gently. Quinn stared down at the things within the box, and picked up a faded picture. Quinn gripped it with her fingers, and didn’t bother glancing at it; she’d seen it so many times, she knew what it showed already, and the photo didn’t bring any more comfort.

Quinn dropped the picture back into the box, moving her eyes to look at the piles of books around her, at the clothes strewn on the ground, at the shelves surrounding her. She suddenly felt claustrophobic craving cold air biting her cheeks, pavement under her bare feet. Quinn wanted to run, wanted to run until her feet bled, till she could smell the iron of her blood. She wanted her muscles to ache, and she wanted to keep running. Wanted to run till there was sun and warmth and no more pain, no more notes or photos for her to see. No more words for her to say.

Quinn looked at her shelf, running her index finger along the spine of books until she found the one she wanted; a book of fairytales from when she was a girl. She’d never quite believed any of them, but now she wanted to destroy them. Quinn flipped through the pages, her wide, tired eyes scanning through the words, none of them quite registering. She reached the last fairytale, the last lie, the last page. Quinn read the last words, and they lived happily ever after, and could have sworn she would’ve laughed if she didn’t feel quite so empty. 

Slamming the book shut, Quinn grabbed the book tighter, letting the spine dig into her palms. Quinn raised her eyes, her gaze meeting herself in the mirror. Her next move wasn’t even a decision, just an instinct to destroy. Raising her hand gripping the book, Quinn flung it forward, and heard the glass of her mirror shatter, spilling over her photos, the memories she’d been creating for years. A wave of relief rolled through Quinn, almost dulling the pain in her head. 

And then she remembered. Those were her photos. Making her way forward, Quinn stepped over random shards of glass, and stopped when she reached the desk, glass covering everything. Without another thought, Quinn wiped the glass away, shards biting into her palms. “No,” Quinn whispered, glancing down at her hands. “No,” she said, shaking her head. The next time she said the word, she yelled it. The next yell wasn’t so much a word, or even a yell, as it was a scream, a shriek that scalded the back of her throat. 

Quinn heard the crunching of the glass under her feet as she stood in front of the desk, staring at her bloody hands. So, that was it. Here she was, bleeding for her photos. 

Quinn stared at her hands, her photos.

Quinn stared at the situation in front of her, trying to figure out how she could get past her family, out the door and out of their house. Quinn wanted to run, she wanted bitter, cold air chilling her skin. She wanted raw, brute emotions and feelings, no more pain. 

“I want to forget, and I want to remember, and I want to run.”

X

Quinn sat in the bath, her hands being washed with the water running. She hadn’t bothered to plug the bath, so it was all shallow water. It stung. It burned up her legs, and felt like flames on her scarred hands. When there was no more blood washing down the drain in small swirls that reminded her of watercolours, she turned her palms up to face her. Quinn evaluated the scars, some of them going deeper than she expected, some of them smaller than she’d thought.  

Quinn leaned back in the bath, bending her knees. “I exist,” she whispered, a secret to herself. After all, she was the one who needed to be reminded. “I exist. I exist.” Though she knew she wouldn’t ever be completely fine, the words comforted her. “I exist.” And for then, it was enough. 

“I exist.”