The Story which is Not a Story

NOTE:

This is not a story.

A story is a collection of words and phrases that come from a certain part of your brain called an imagination, though it seems not everyone has an imagination. Take Mr Whitfield for example; he is a mean and bossy maths teacher who NEVER laughs, and therefore has no imagination.

A story needs imagination to be a story, but this is not a story.

To be clear, everything mentioned in this collection of words and phrases is true.

Just as true as seeing fairy in your garden when you were younger, or seeing a ghost stalking through your living room at night.

So, the things mentioned here in this story which is not a story, are real happenings, which are also known as an experience. And to have an experience, you need to have memories, and memories are almost always accurate. 

Almost.

So if there is a memory here that is not true, then it is a false memory, and you must ignore any false memories that are written here.

Just to clarify, a false memory is a memory which is not true, and is therefore part of the imagination, which is only used for writing stories.

But once again, this is not a story, so no traces of imagination should be found unless it is a false memory, which is also not allowed in a story which is not a story, like this one.

So, as you read the tragedies written in this article, as we’ll call it, you must keep this one thing I mind:

THIS IS NOT A STORY!!

…………………………………………….

It began one night.

I heard the screams of the children, the broken songs of the swallows. The start of a time nobody saw coming.

I woke that night in a pool of my own sweat. The crescent moon arched over me with a seemingly sinister grin. That’s when I knew something was up. You see, the moon and I were friends. I’d had my doubts about him… but really, he was fine. Generally, looking up I would see him staring back at me a flashing me a toothless grin. Why do people say the moon is made of cheese? I don’t think cheese can smile, do you? As I was staring at my old friend the Moon, I got out of bed and placed my sweaty feet on the cold wooden floor. The coldness washed over me like a tide. It was as if tiny icicles were slowly creeping up my legs, my spine. Now all that remained was my wishful thinking, and of course my hungry stomach. My stomach growled at me and I growled back, in a somewhat louder fashion. I kept my eyes fixed to the door in front of me and slowly tiptoed towards it. My phone bleeped in my pyjama pocket and I felt around for the button to silence it. Footsteps echoed in the corridor and I stood quite literally frozen to the spot, unmoving. The door swung open and I picked my feet up just in time to stop them from being caught under the door. While I’d like to say it was something exiting like a fairy, or even better… a ghost, I must sadly inform you that it was neither of these. 

It was my mum, in other words. 

“Tom,” she whispered, “Thomas.” 

“Yes Mum, it’s me,” I replied. 

“Oh, so you’re awake are you?” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, so are you.” I could just imagine Mum rolling her eyes too. “Enough Tom! Be sensible for once! Listen, there’s this new virus out there, and-” 

I jumped in, “You mean the one that someone caught over in that weird place where everyone wears tuxedos?” I could hear my Mum groan in the dark. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Tom, but yes, it was the virus that someone caught over in China.” 

I breathed in, rather loudly. “And what does this virus from the land of tuxedos have to do with us?” I asked impatiently. I could sense Mum was losing her patience too. 

“Tom, someone in Wellington has the virus too now, and that’s only a few hours away. The government’s put us all in quarantine.” Quarantine! But that’s like… prison! But in your own home- I think? “Well, at least I’ll finally have something to share for news tomorrow at school,” I said. 

“Tom! That’s the point! Quarantine, in other words is lockdown. Lockdown Tom! Do I have to spell it out for you? L-O-C-K-D-O-W-N. You can’t go to school tomorrow.” 

I arched my eyebrows in surprise. Mum always insisted I went to school, even if I was unwell. “But what will I tell Charlie, Mum? I always walk to school with him!” 

“Charlie?” 

I nodded, even though Mum couldn’t see me. 

“Yes Mum, Charlie, the ‘kid-who-lives-next-door?’” That was what Mum referred to Charlie as; ‘the-kid-who lives-next-door.’ 

“Charlie won’t be going to school either Tom. Everybody is in lockdown.” I still had so many questions. “But Mum, what about-” 

“Enough Tom! Just… I don’t know, go back to bed.” 

“But-” 

“Now Tom!” 

I sulked off back to bed, slamming the door behind me. Through my window I could just make up the evil grin on Mr. Moon’s face behind the clouds.

………………………………………………………………………….

So, you know that this is not a story, but what you don’t know is what will come next. What will come next is a term for what will happen in the next part of a story, or in this case, not a story because once again, this is not a story. And in the ‘what-will-come-next-moment’ in this story, which is not a story, is as follows…

………………………………………………………………………….

For the second time that night I awoke in a puddle of sweat. The moon was covered by the clouds, but I could still see a vivid recollection of his sinister grin in my mind. I’d been dreaming about school, or more specifically, not going to school. You see, I’d never actually been a fan of school, but for some reason I had the overwhelming desire to go to school. 

So;

Yes, we were all in lockdown,

Yes, we were in a ‘global pandemic’

Yes, we weren’t allowed anywhere

But yes, I was going to school.

I aroused myself and quickly but quietly pulled my school uniform over my head, pulled on some socks and shoes and tiptoed out the door, forgetting breakfast. 

I considered waking Charlie, but then I thought the better of it. He wouldn’t want to be woken up at 5:30am in the morning, and he wouldn’t want to go to school with me either. 

Alone, I wandered down the narrow street, keeping to the shadows so nobody would see me. I caught a few curious glances of people looking from their bedroom windows, and I had second thoughts about the uniform. 

“Help, help!” a voice screamed from around the corner. I hesitated before peeking my head around to see what the matter was. A little girl, about the age of five or six was lying on the ground with blood splattered around her. I shrunk further back into the shadows. “Help!” she called again. I was unsure what to do; helping this girl would cost me a day of school. 

I decided to help the girl… kind of. I lifted her up and put her on a nearby doorstep and then went off again. ‘She’ll be fine, ' I thought to myself as I continued on my journey. About two streets from school, I heard another cry; It was the sound of a baby wailing. I sighed and once again placed the crying child on a nearby doorstep and went off again. 

School was now just across the road, but still another cry stopped me in my tracks. “Tom!” The voice called. “Thomas!”

I froze. Like before, I wish I was able to say it was a fairy or a ghost, but alas it was not.

It was my mum.

“Thomas! There you are!” she called to me. I smiled meekly. “You know you can’t go to school Tom! Now be a good boy and come home. “Yes Mum.” I said and followed her back down the street. The little girl and the baby watched me as I walked home, my head hung in shame. 

Well, that wasn’t much of an adventure I guess, but it was still enough to put me off coming to school when it did finally open. 

I never could forget the girl and the baby, and now every time I think of school, I think of them too.

………………………………………………

Well, that’s the story which is not a story, and though there are more things that happened after this event, it would take too much time to say them here, especially as all the fairies and ghosts would have to be described very accurately for you to believe they were real. 

But all I can say for now is, enjoy school while you can folk, because it is one thing that is not a story.