The Identity Lot

They're slimy, unshaped globs. Some blue, some yellow, some transparent. All of them - lost.

Lucy had no idea how sticky identities were. She also didn’t know why they all looked so similar. There were so many stranded identities that clung onto each other here. Every time she reached for one, it would shudder away. Of course, such is the result of phonies and thieves that try to steal these poor identities.  Finding an identity was like solving a thousand piece puzzles without hints. Her mind went in a million different directions.

Lucy didn’t remember what happened to her. One minute, she was on cloud nine, the next she was shaking and scratching, and finally �" well, she felt nothing. Before this nothingness, all she felt was pure bliss �" pure joy. She felt unbreakable, curious, free and risqué. Before that joyfulness, she felt pain �" internal and external. The one thing that she discovered that tamed the hurt was her tablets. They were small blue pills with little smiles �" how could she resist them? She thought these pills would save her life.

Of course, it worked for a little while. It made her smile and she felt lifted every now and then, but what happens to a brand new scent after left in a room for a while? She needed something stronger, something that surely would never disappoint her. This is when she found the gold, nameless pills with the gigantic grins. They even made music-like sounds, which made her feel lifted before they even reached her tongue. Lucy loved these tablets.

What Lucy did not love was the yearning and suffering for them. Whenever they were out of her reach, she felt as though the life had been sucked out of her. She was fired from her job as a pharmacist; since she was caught stealing supplements that she believed could substitute her addiction. A couple of weeks had gone by and she could no longer make ends meet on her rent and since this was the fourth month of living in her apartment rent-free, she had to live on the streets. Lucy felt nothing when her boss fired her or when her landlord kicked her out.  However, the second she felt that her golden tablets were threatened �" her stomach turned, palms sweated and heart raced.

The golden pills were her first priority, even when she no longer wanted them to be. They didn’t play rhythmic tunes anymore either. Now, they were loud, annoying and obnoxious. When she tried to drift away from them, their boring talk turned into death threats. “We’ll kill you.” They would say to her. “We’ll let you rot. No one here would mind. You’re worthless.”   

She wanted control of her body back but it was too late. Her identity had left her a month ago. It could no longer compete with the pills and it was obvious who Lucy showed more affection to. If her identity was no longer in use, then it was left with no choice but to break away. The yearning for Lucy’s slightest attention ate her identity alive and when it realized that there was no hope for affection left, the identity broke away.

Discovering that her identity was gone was the easy part. She examined her body one morning, looking over her habitual scares and bruises because her attention was on the gap that lay on the left side of her chest. It was not large, but noticeable �" one can see through this hole. It was deep, gray and burned, almost as if her identity burned away. The doctors told her that this was what usually happens when an identity goes missing and that she shouldn’t be alarmed. “Check Identity Lot, it should be there �" somewhere.” One doctor said.

Lucy knew about this place, but she never imagined that she’d end up going there. The land was covered with miles of stacked identities. “Some been here since the 30’s. ‘Course, they’re all long gone and dead. They just take up space now.” The lot keeper chuckled, which Lucy remained silent to. He cleared his throat, “Well, have a look around. Stay up here. The closer to the gates, the newer the identities are. We close at 9. Let me know if you find it.” When he left, Lucy rummaged through the sticky identities and sad souls, carefully running her fingers over the centers. She remembered what the doctor said: “If it is your identity, it will sink into you if you touch its center.” Lucy touched many centers that day, many in which squirmed away from the sight of her index finger.

The girl felt hopeless �" perhaps her identity was not here. Or, perhaps it was but chose to hide from her. She did not know what to do with her weak limbs or her racing pulse. Without her identity, she was like a puppet; clinging onto anything that would give her some structure. Lucy did not want to go back to the grinning golden pills �" they were mean to her and she knew they wouldn’t fill the void on her chest. Lucy wanted to cry but she didn’t because if she did, she would not be able to stop herself. Instead, she sat on the dirty ground, silent and stared coldly at the stack of identities in front of her.

Her mind pondered for a while and she tried to recall that feeling of depression before the pills. It was not even a memory for her because she trained herself to believe that it had never happened. It was easier that way. As she sat, she fixed her eyes on a particular section of identities. There were three joined ones, all beating rhythmically. One was blue, the other orange and the other was purple. The orange one remained still, afraid to move but also completely dependent on the blue one. The blue one jigged some, trying to set free. Lucy thought that maybe this one was hers, but when she touched its center, her fingers slipped through the middle. Finally, she set eyes on the purple one.

She felt in tune with the identity. Her gut knew that this was hers. Lucy reached her finger out to touch the center of the identity, but as it got close, the purple little glob winced and flattened its shape �" it was afraid. This was indeed, her little identity, afraid to go back to what it has known for so many months �" loneliness and abandonment. “I’m �" sorry.” Lucy said, apologetically. She wanted to say so much more, but her lips were stubborn and chapped and her heart wouldn’t stay still, so all she could say once more was; “I’m so, so sorry. Please �" forgive me.” The tiny glob of violet light slowly formed its shape back and moved gently closer to Lucy’s finger. Lucy smiled to herself; finally she could feel herself doing something right. When she felt her identity latching onto her finger tip, she felt safe, secure and renewed. Lucy was going to listen to herself now, and her first order of business was to flush those God awful grinning pills down the toilet. 

Author's Note

This was actually an English assignment that I had to do the other day. Decided to share it with you guys! Please, tell me what you think. X

Reviews

[Austin]

Before I begin this, I would like to stress that this is only my opinion, and this opinion comes from a person that has both read and written little. Please keep that in mind when reading this, and take what I say with a grain of salt.

With that being said, if you do decide to come back to this, I would suggest giving the identities some identity. It goes on about how similar they look and feel, but not about how they act. If I understand correctly, when Lucy loses her identity, she becomes apathetic, depressed, almost comatose, perhaps lost. That leads me to wonder what her identity is. We don't know much about Lucy other than she's a pharmacist that lives in an apartment. Perhaps since she doesn't remember what happened to her (at least I assume that, since the story recalls what happened to her before she gets to the lot), she can take a look at the lost identities and we can learn more about her through the freed identity, and the rest of the story can be her trying to reclaim it and it avoiding her deadened self.

Maybe this is just my romanticizing the concept of life, but it sounds like people that lose their personalities lose their passion. Perhaps it's not just their identities, but their desires and fears, their goals and weaknesses. I don't want to suggest too much, but some form of characterization, either on Lucy's part, on Lucy's identity's part, or both, would be nice.

That's the biggest suggestion I can give for this piece: giving it a personality. I think the decline into drug-addiction and depression is decent, and the spelling and grammar are good (except for the subject number disagreement with the "a thousand(-)piece puzzles"), but without either Lucy or her identity having a personality, it feels empty. I apologize if that sounds harsh, but that is my honest opinion.

I didn't want to go too in-depth with this, since it's an English assignment; I'll check out one of your other stories, if that's okay with you.

[Jay.]

Thank you for your review, I appreciate it! Yes, I recognized that I need to be more in depth with description, and I do actually plan on rewriting this. However, my professor limited our story to three pages exactly and that has always been a challege for me to write so little.
I really appreciate your honest opinion and for taking time to read this.
Thanks again x

[Tai Ryens]

You certainly have a knack for the whimsical, Jay, really. I always begin your stories in a quiet place so I can truly focus on the world you illustrate with your words. This one seems rather more metaphorical than the other one I've rad, as in, in this one I actually perceive more to be a journey to rediscover herself after years of addiction whereas in the other I took the world quite literally. It just has a different atmosphere.

Likewise to what Austin has said, should you ever choose to return to this and tweak it, I'd suggest expanding it and giving the identities more personality. The personality of the identity is akin to an abused puppy, and that's not exactly a bad thing. It actually made me feel rather more sympathetic to both the lady and her identity. It's just how the lady feels herself, I'd expect her to feel more . . . driven, you know? Devastated that she would choose to destroy herself to such a limit where her own identity is skeptical to reentering her while simultaneously feeling compelled to recomplete herself, feeling like that identity is calling her name out and her name alone.

The rest of the story is outright gorgeous, I must say. Lucy's deterioration and everything else was spot on and presented nicely, in a way that Lucy herself feels detached from the memories. She retells the story of her past and remains separate from it, and I feel like that is what makes this story unique. I like it muchly.

Well penned, Jay, always a pleasure to read what you've written.

[13point9]

Right off the bat, I'm going to say that you are great at creating beautiful worlds that spin around the reader and are so fun to discover. I really love the whole idea you've created, and your first pragraph in particular is just perfect. I'm impressed at how developed and concise but powerful plot you've managed to create in so few words. You manage to keep a common and touchy subject original and still drive a resonating message home. We have a whole world of distractions and cheap remedies for the quiet sadness and uncertainty that's super prevelent and that can all really overwhelm a person if they don't care to care for themselves and mind (as in, not lose) their identities, which no fault of their own is tough going. Idk, I like what the other reviewer said; I don't think that's romanticized at all.

Anyway, the tone carries the story and her thoughts along really nicely; I get a good sense of the narrator and where she feels she is. You're good with pacing, too, and the whole thing strolls along comfortably from start to finish, which although giving the story (and the anrrator) a very pleasant, mild, and almost zoned-out feel, but that being said, I'm actually not sure is entirely what you want-- particularly in the middle when she's spiralling to addiction and depression. Considering what a finicky and touchy subject you're writing about, I agree with Austin that it's pulled off pretty well and I realize you probably had to keep it short for your assignment, but some parts of her decline that seem important are rushed through or drily stated when the rest is so colorfully expressed (colorful as in, a lot of your description is very clever and personalized and feels very candid, not that it's rude ^^), and those parts come off feeling flat. Particularly, the fourth paragraph is rushed, and the first line of the fifth paragraph and some of the sixth paragraph are a bit statement-y. I mostly agree with everything else Austin said, too, actually, except that I was thinking that the point of her not having an (or having a weak) identity from the get-go was that she was depressed and therefore not mindful of the identity she felt was underserving her anyway?

Anyway, sorry for rambling, good write! I enjoyed this!