Lost Memories

John was apparently a simple seven year-old boy, but not everything that shines is gold... he as also a world famous writer. This story took place when h was trying to write his sixth novel. That specific week he was having problems remembering things, like his ideas for the last chapter of the book, so he could neither sleep nor think straight. On one of his afternoon walks, he found himself sitting in a park without knowing how he had ended up there.

‘Lost, hey?’ said the strange man that stood up before him.
‘Yeah, I guess so...’
‘I believe I have something that will help you... do you know Platoon’s theory?’, asked the man.
‘Which one?’
‘Oh, what a clever boy... the one that speaks about the “World of Ideas”. Where everything you think is in a candy river or floating in bubbles through the skies...’
‘Yes, I’ve read about it... It’s interesting, theoretically speaking.’
‘Close your eyes and you’ll see how theoretically I’m speaking...’ – John closed his eyes reluctantly.
‘And now what?’
‘Now, start counting backwards from ninety-nine...’, said the man.
‘Ok... 99, 98, 97 [...] 3, 2, 1, 0... Can I open my eyes?’, no answer was heard. ‘Sir? Are you there?’, asked John while he was opening his eyes.

He looked around... the garden had disappeared, the only thing left was the bench where he was sat, and as he stood up to observe the nothingness that surrounded him, the bench had magically vanished too. There was nothing left, just a peaceful white light.
‘Well...’, he thought, ‘...this is nice, but it would be nicer if there was some kind of green grass and blue sky to please my eyes.’
From his head a bubble with these words was born and the grass and the sky he imagined were drawn before him. He was finally walking in the “World of Ideas”.

Seven doors appeared and as he opened them he found books or post-its or archived files that reported each one of his thoughts. The seventh door had its walls made of tiles, organized by date and his deepest and unconscious memories were once again written.
He couldn’t believe that the ideas he hungered for were just a step a way and with pure acceptance towards this bizarre world, he took that step like it was his last breath. Ten minutes later, that were the equivalent of a second in the material world, he found his beloved ideas that revealed the end of his last book.

If he stayed forever in his own “Neverland” or if he searched for a way out, I don’t know... but I want to believe that no matter what, he found a way of living in both worlds.