Reconstruction of Memory - The Word

What was the word for it? It ended in an “ia”, like every term describing something does. The term that describes a feeling. The feeling you get of understanding that when you’re on a bus, everyone on the bus has an imagination as vivid as yours, with a life as detailed and crazy (or not) as yours. There’s a word for it but I always seem to forget it when I need to remember it.  

What a conversation starter that would be.

Bright lights. Bright lights and white halls. Bright lights and white halls and white tiled floors. Prison. At least the walls were covered in colorful drawings done by what I assume to be the prisoners. Walking even further in, and taking a right, the walls changed color from white to orange. I don’t think it was a good idea to wear my bright neon green jumpsuit. I would surely get picked on and my stuff would get stolen. But that morning I was feeling confident, as if the world couldn’t touch me.

Funny enough, I didn’t have an escort so I felt a slight sense of freedom. But that small feeling quickly left, fleeting my grasp as I continued on through the hallway. I passed rooms full of the other inmates. The rooms seemed to be all the same, rows and tables of people, getting fed information. I was expected to report to one of these rooms pretty soon now.

As I neared the end of the hallway, I came across a small metal door. Opening the small metal door revealed a small room with a singular chair in it. In the chair sat a small man that resembled a leprechaun. A thought came to mind; that I should ask him where he keeps his pot of gold, but I quickly dismissed the idea because this could be a potential leader. I noticed the leprechaun man was wearing knee socks. I don’t think I was in any position to judge this man for what he wore. After all, I was wearing a neon green jumpsuit. What caused this man to wear those knee socks? There was a series of events that made him, after all. There must have been something crazy going on in his life. And there’s a word for what I’m realizing. What’s the word again...

Authors Note:

All throughout this short essay, I use one of Kesey's important tactics. During many of the scenes in “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”, he writes from the main character’s point of view. Except for one thing. He writes fiction as reality. Kesey does this because to the character, the fiction is their reality and it is what they experience. I did this because as I was writing, I was writing about my first day at school. It then turned into a “memory” depicting a walk through a prison. Aside from that, I use repetition, specifically the repetition of the first phrase, in the beginning and at the end of the story. The creative piece is the song I was listening to (at least the “radio station”) on the first day of school as well as what was in my head that first day. I thought that it would be interesting to put the reader in my shoes with it.

Comments (4)

Ameer Johnson (Student 2019)
Ameer Johnson

The piece succeeded based on what you wrote in your author's note. I think you nailed the style of writing fiction as reality. For what I have seen of this memory, it had me questioning a lot throughout the story. What I'm thinking about is what that word. was…

Nile Ward (Student 2019)
Nile Ward

WHAT WAS THAT WORD The piece succeeds what you set out to do, and it had me asking a bunch of questions like "What am I seeing" or "Where are we?" It's the same feeling I had when reading "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Next," since the line between reality and fiction was pretty blurred.

Majo Bostani (Student 2019)
Majo Bostani

This piece definitely succeeded per the author's note. It was creative, and not too heavy on what Ken Kesey did. You made it your own, and that's what I like. What was the word?