A Non-Existant Memoir- How I Would Begin It

I haven't written a memoir, and don't plan to… but if I was, this is how I think I might begin it.

Maybe.

It depends why I was writing it- if it was as a result of something tragic, something amazing, something noteworthy happening to me, it might begin differently.

This is how it would be if I was just writing about what has happened in my fifteen years on earth.

Walk in the Countryside 4

It was a cold, wet day. I knew so before I opened my eyes: I had left the window in my room open the night before and could feel the damp air chill my room; hear the curtains billow in its freezing force.

Such was my life.

I lay, my eyes still closed, and listened to the moths hit off the inside of my lampshade: this was why you never left your window open and your light on in the night in the countryside. Their frantic flurrying, their continual failure to escape… it felt familiar. But in my lethargic state, I couldn't pin it down.

Slowly, the memories of the previous day and expectations of the coming day began to slip into my mind. Still I lay unmoving. The test I had yesterday, the worry I had done badly, the anxiety that I hadn't bothered to look at the book I had brought home yesterday for the test I had today…

These little inconsequential things, like dust motes floating in a bleak and huge universe… they seemed important to me.

Back then.

Such was my life.

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