*nabs it from nekare*

[rosie_rues]

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your journal and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

*is curious what people will 'remember'*

Comments

[nekare.livejournal.com]

I remember the time we crashed a private party and ended up getting too drunk on martinis. We were wearing purple dresses and sharing a plastic princess tiara we found somewhere, I don't remember where, and we looked so out of place in the jean-clad crowd. When we finally got out of there the sun was already coming out and we ended up in a park, coats sliding down our shoulders and giggling as we climbed into a fountain. The light made the water shine so much. We got chased off by the police, and we walked by home drenched and swaying, hair tangled. One of my heels broke, and I was barefoot for hours. It was quite lovely, really. :)

[lazy-neutrino.livejournal.com]

That time we went shopping together and you spent all your money on stationery.

[ter369.livejournal.com]

There was that time we went rambling round Wales, looking for a Merlin-sized hawthorne bush. I still owe you £4.10 for the Hobnobs we scarfed down while sitting on a very damp hillside. Thank goodness you brought snacks to sustain us!

[penhaligonblue.livejournal.com]

Remember that time we missed a train in the London Underground during rush hour? When the train pulled into the station, the crowd rushed forward to pack in. The man ahead of us, a tweedy old fellow carrying a battered leather satchel, just made it aboard as the doors were closing, but in his haste he neglected to notice that a book had dropped out of his bag. The doors slid shut, the train zoomed onward, and we two were left alone on the platform with a dusty and worn-out hardback. I can't even remember the title, it's been so many years now, but I do know we forgot our eagerness to get to wherever we were going, and instead returned above ground just as evening was falling to settle ourselves in a cozy teashop and take turns reading aloud to one another long into the night.

[mcmuffins-js.livejournal.com]

I'll never forget that time we were out gathering wild mushrooms, and it started raining (torrential downpour, absolutely opaque sheets of rain), and so we quickly found a rabbit hole to hide in. You read my fortune in my palm, told me I that after ten lovers and two husbands I would find my one true love, my heart's desire, and we would travel the world together liberating elephants from the circus and riding into the sunset on them. I laid out the cards for you and saw that you would first find love (in a crowded market square in Burma), and then find fame and fortune as the inventor of a new kind of time machine. When we at last ventured out of the rabbit hole, we found the rain had stopped and night had fallen and the sky was sparkling itself inside out with stars and you said it looked like the world had created itself for us, for the promise of heaven that night in a starry sky. Do you remember?

[bethia-cathrain.livejournal.com]

I remember the time I asked you to proof-read a draft of my dissertation. After waiting in some trepidation for the response, I was puzzled to receive a carefully-worded query enquiring whether or not I was aware that, upon the reader's eye beginning to travel down the text, each line of type turned into a curlicue of dark-green ivy and sprouted leaves which then attached themselves to the nearest available surface, and took root. Your office, you informed me, had now become a bower of densely-woven foliage with branches lining the walls, the bookshelves and the legs of your desk. The surface of the desk itself was obscured, as was the window, through which only a dimly-green gleam of suggested sunlight was now visible. (Such was the extent of this phenomenon, in fact, there was no longer space to occupy your office at all - you had fled only moments before the wildly-reaching leafy hands entwined themselves about your own limbs and hair as well).

The original, problematic typescript continued to sit fatly in the centre of the desk, from where it was eventually liberated some hours after I received your comments by a passing woodcutter, whose weather-scarred hands and arms wielded an axe with a competent ease not belied by his silence. As soon as the first branches had been sliced away tears the colour of stagnant water flowed from the paper and formed a whirlpool, until all the ivy was drowned and disappeared into the floor.

You considered marrying the woodcutter, but were deterred by the belief that fairytales evaporate in daylight, and he’d turn back into a wolf.

The original chapter was never found. I haven’t asked you to read anything since.