The Unwritten Times

Uh, hi, my name is Olivia Cee, but I swear that’s not my last name. Everyone’s last name is just a letter of the alphabet, pronounced phonetically. When I say everyone, I mean everyone in the world. I’m recording this because I’m nervous about writing anything down. I’m even worried that this recording will disappear if I make any mistakes. I’ll get to that later.

I've always considered myself a pretty dull person. Getting hit on the head by a small crystal ball six months ago was one interesting thing that happened to me. It caused a concussion, and I woke up in the ER. I remember little about that day because of the injury and because it was during the Unwritten Times. Oh yeah, one of the most interesting things about me is that the world is the way it is because of me.

I woke up this morning to ‘beige’. Beige, gray, greige, taupe, tan... There are similar in-between shades, but none are interesting enough to mention. I still remember bolder, more vivid tones from the Unwritten Times, like black and white, though no one else does, and I've stopped trying to convince them. I’m sure more intense colors exist, though I've forgotten them. Sometimes, I catch a flash of them behind my eyelids when I close my eyes.

My blanket is beige. My walls are gray. I get up and put on a light gray sweatshirt and khakis. I eat my cream-colored nutrition block, which tastes adequate. I brush my teeth, tie my hair into a simple ponytail, and look at myself in the mirror. I remember my face being different before, but I can't remember how. My eyes weren’t this round, and my hair was darker, maybe even black. But black doesn't exist anymore. No one else remembers the Unwritten Times. I made up that name, and just like colors, I've stopped trying to convince anyone that it was real.

I bet you’re wondering why I call the past the Unwritten Times, why I’m afraid to write anything, and how I caused this new era to exist. I’ll tell you what I know—or think. Remember when I mentioned being hit on the head with a crystal ball? I know it happened because I still have it, and nothing like it exists in this world. Believe me, I’ve looked.

I recall an incident that occurred shortly after the accident. I was suffering from a terrible headache—which doesn’t happen anymore—and was texting my friend, Liz Bee, about a neighbor who was making a lot of noise next door. I wrote, “I wish he would disappear.”

The next day, I woke up, and he was gone. Poof! Never existed. Liz blamed it on the concussion because she swore I never had a neighbor in the apartment next door.

The crystal is the only thing that reminds me of these scattered memories from the past, along with my journal. Both sit on my desk, unchanged—the crystal with its hairline crack running through the middle, and the black journal with its tattered pages and worn edges. Black…

Sometimes, when the sunlight hits the crystal just right, it creates a prism of bright colors. I think it only does this for me, but I won’t show the crystal to anyone in case someone tries to take it away. What is that feeling? I don’t remember. There are only a few feelings left anymore.

This morning, I placed my hand on the crystal and eyed my journal before leaving my apartment. I stepped into the elevator and tapped my foot to the music playing through a ceiling speaker. It was pleasant to listen to. It was "pleasy listening" tunes, to be exact, not to be confused with "easy listening" or "breezy listening," and definitely not "easy peasy listening," which is marketed for children. Still, I wouldn’t judge if you listened to it because there is no judgment here, period. Oh, and the lighting was also just right—neither too bright nor too dim.

I left my building and chose the static sidewalk instead of the moving one to my daily volunteer activity, which I was assigned to at random. This week, it was at a shoe complex, handing out sensible footwear to those who needed new pairs. Everyone is assigned to an activity that helps society run smoothly. I don’t remember what activities I engaged in before, but sometimes I get flashes of something fuzzy, four-legged, and a feeling that was more than just content. Unusual, right?

I watched as people strolled or stood still on travelators that carried them to their destinations. They were busy with their favorite activities, such as small talk, smiling, and waving. Of course, there were more activities, and naturally, everyone enjoyed the same things. I know there was something more than just liking, but like everything else, I couldn’t remember.

I arrived at the shoe complex, waved and smiled at the others at the counter, and began handing out shoes. It was sand season, so everyone received a pair in that shade; they just needed to give me their size.

As I walked through the endless aisles of basic shoes, my thoughts drifted to my journal and what it contained. I hadn’t written anything in weeks, doubting whether I would ever have to write again. It seemed too complicated. Everything was perfect… right? Why change anything? It used to be different. There must have been a good reason I changed things. I picked up my hundredth shoebox and decided to stop thinking about that book.

~

I chose a different route home than usual. Something in my gut guided me elsewhere. As I turned onto a street I’d never walked before, something odd happened. I tripped and fell. It didn’t stop there. My shoe flew off and rolled down a hill. I chased after it but couldn’t catch it before it landed in a pond. I almost felt like crying, but instead, I lay on the perfectly maintained lawn and started laughing. I’m not sure how long I laughed, but I stopped when I saw a shadow looming over me.

“Olivia?” a deep voice said. It was a man.

I stood up and looked to see who was talking to me. It was Gabe… Ramirez. My high school crush. Crush? What a weird word to pop into my head. It’s what we did to recycle beverage cans. I remembered I liked him back during the Unwritten Times. The feeling I had for him was strong. He also didn’t look the same. His skin was lighter, and so was his hair, but I recognized his eyes. I would never forget his eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Ramirez,” I said in a strange, loud, and awkward voice, as if I were commenting on something only the two of us knew. Uncontrollable laughter burst out again, and I couldn’t stop. Gabe gave me a strange look and cocked his head to the side.

“Ramirez?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but I also saw a hint of a smile. “I’m Mr. Arr.”

“What are you? A pirate?” I blurted out, giggling again. Gabe shook his head and extended his hand. As I felt the warmth of his skin, I had a strong urge to pull him close and kiss his big, beautiful lips. Beautiful? What was I thinking? Was something wrong with me?

“Pirate?” Gabe asked, still smiling. There was something behind his eyes that I had never seen during this time. Life. Did that even make sense?

“I remember you,” he said. “I don’t remember where from, maybe from a place we volunteer at. I was just coming back from the nutrition cube factory. Next week, the cubes will be a toasted bean shade and have a slightly varied flavor profile.” This time, instead of kissing him, I felt the urge to smack my hand across his cheek.

“We knew each other in another life,” I said. Should I have told him more? What would I have even said? Gabe kept smiling as we stared at each other in silence until he suddenly waved and walked back up the hill. My thoughts drifted to my journal. I hadn’t opened it in a while, and I was starting to forget what I had written. I decided to take a peek when I got home tonight.

Well, I did, and that’s why I’m recording this. I took away all the bad things—sickness, death, greed, hatred, jealousy, violence, pain, despair—everything considered evil. But I did something worse: I also took away hope. When I removed the dark, I erased the light. I took everything. They can’t exist without each other. How stupid was I to think I could create some utopia?

Right now, I’m looking outside and know the sun is setting, but the sky only shifts from beige to a darker gray each day. Flashes of past sunsets hit me, making my eyes feel hot and my chest tight. What’s happening? This is probably why I stopped reading my book. I warned myself to stop changing things. Still, things kept getting more dull, and when I tried to reverse it, the world went crazy.

I noticed that when I tore a page out of my book, things reverted to the last change I had made. There were lots of torn pages. The last entry was a note to myself. Stop playing god. Learn to live in this world. Get over it. Get over yourself.

In this moment, I can’t get over it because memories from the old world are flooding back to me, and it was in no way perfect. In countless ways, it was horrifying. Wars, disease, death, power, greed... I had put an end to all that, but it wasn’t worth losing everything else.

I remember the taste of strawberries, milkshakes, and salty potato chips. I remember the feeling of Gabe’s lips on mine and the warm throbbing I feel between my legs, thinking about when we had sex. I remember how sad I was when my dog Ernie died. Dogs! I can’t believe I forgot dogs!

What would happen right now if I ripped all the pages out? Would it reset everything back to normal? What about the crystal? What if I broke it? Should I throw it out the window? Where is this power coming from? The crystal? The book? Me? My heart was pounding in my ears. What’s this feeling I’m feeling? I can hardly breathe. Fear. Nothing in this world can help me. I need to go back, but not too fast. I have to slowly make things right, even if that means reopening Pandora’s box.

Remember when I said that I could sometimes see colors behind my lids when I closed my eyes? I’m planning to write something tonight in my journal — just something small and simple. I’ll record more in the morning if it works.

~

Morning, hi, it’s Olivia Chin. Yup, I remember my real last name. I woke up to the sound of loud voices from the street. I grabbed my journal and went to my window, where I saw a group of people looking up at the sky. Their mouths were open in amazement. Most of them were smiling. It worked. I wasn’t shocked because I remembered. I opened my book and read, “The sky is blue.”

I picked up the crystal ball and held it to the sunshine streaming through my window. A rainbow of colors spread across my gray wall. My head felt light. I was happy and… terrified. I didn’t know how long it would take, but I couldn’t wait to show the world every color imaginable.