I lost my self. I’m not sure where it went, but I lost it. It happened around Christmas, one night when I was staring at the fairy lights stuck around the bedroom window. They dazzled me, despite how cheap they were. They brought a warm glow to the room, and the next day, my self had gone out with the lights.
I looked through all the Christmas decoration boxes, but my self was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t in the attic, it wasn’t under the bed. I guess it had well and truly scampered. Or disintegrated while I waited for Santa to come on over. Sometimes I thought Saint Nick had taken it in exchange for my presents, for I got particularly decent presents that year, but that didn’t seem in character. How bad had I been?
I sent a whole stack of letters to Santa asking, just in case, but I guess he changed his address.
I asked around, but everyone told me my self was right there. They could see something I couldn’t, or they were simply trying to make me feel better. It would drive me mad, but with my self missing, I couldn’t bring about such emotions. I was numb, as if I was no longer of this Earth. I got some close friends to take turns pinching me. I could barely feel a thing, but I felt something, so I was sure I hadn’t kicked the bucket just yet.
I eventually decided to put posters up around town, asking if anyone had seen my self. I got prank calls, deranged mimes, and even the police on my case, none of them really wanting to help me out. They appear when you let your self go.
So I sat staring at the fairy lights each night, hoping my self would return as the lights brightened up the darkness. Even if it wasn’t Christmas anymore, all I could do was look at those lights some more. The dazzle had long since gone.
I checked in my pocket for the time on my phone, even if the time didn’t really matter, and I felt something caught at the bottom.
I guess it was there all along, right in the most obvious spot, tangled up with my keys.
The next day I pulled down the fairy lights.