By my third loop through the house ~ bedroom. bathroom, laundry room, living room, kitchen ~ I had progressed from confused to annoyed to down right pissed. This frantic forgetfulness happened far too often, but in no other aspect of my life. I can remember names and faces. I can recall minutia from three weeks ago that anyone else would have jettison from their brain when the first bit of new information took its place. My problem is losing the same item over and over. My house is apparently some a sort of Bermuda Triangle, swallowing up colorful bits of plastic

Constant replacements were getting expensive and I’m tired of being the butt of so many family jokes. Standing in the kitchen counter, I racked my brain for any clues. My hands splayed on either side of the sink, I drummed my fingers in frustration, hoping for some flash of insight. I rehashed the morning in my head, watching scenes unfold throughout the day. Where was I at which time, doing what? Nothing jogged my lost memory.

Baskets of clean clothes sat on the floor in front of the couch. Stomping down an already worn path, I toppled the contents onto the cushions. Flinging T-shirts and underwear around the room, patting down jeans and towels in an exasperated effort to find my missing glasses. They had vanished somewhere in my house along with orphan socks and loose change.

I had articles to write, and without those glasses the effort would be useless. They’re only drug store readers, but the eye strain caused by close computer work without them would bring on hellacious migraines. There was no other choice. My search was leaving me empty-handed. I needed to get new glasses. That would mean having to put up with more complaints about losing yet another pair and the waste of money to buy new ones.

A trip to the store required a shower, and a change out of my pajamas.

Standing under the hot stream, hoping it would wash away the cobwebs, I tried to relax. Stress can affect memory and I hoped I could still remember where I last left my glasses. Pouring a small puddle of pearlescent liquid into one palm, I rubbed my hands together, working the soap into a thick lather. As I reached up to smooth the shampoo through my hair, I dislodged a familiar object.

Readin' and writin'

For Story Dam, an online writing community offering weekly and monthly writing prompts. This week’s theme is: Where is it?

Writing prompt

21 thoughts on “Lost

  1. As others have noted, the alliteration of “frantic forgetfulness” is perfect. I have experienced those moments, too. And I hate hate hate hate hate losing my glasses. I’m completely blind without mine and actually could use glasses to find my glasses! The character’s frustration and anger felt very real to me. I particularly liked how she showed her (look at me assuming – I just realized there isn’t a gender indicated – very cool) increasing anger by throwing the laundry around. I do the same thing when I’m mad. The only thing that threw me was that she didn’t notice them until she got in the shower. How did she get out of her shirt without dislodging them? I think I was looking for a note about unbuttoning the top. But that may be just me, and it’s a really minor point. I loved the piece and totally sympathized with the character.


  2. “I had progressed from confused to annoyed to down right pissed.” – I loved this line, mainly because I’ve been there on a number of occasions.

    I also loved the phrase “frantic forgetfulness”, I’m a big fan of alliteration.

    I really enjoyed this story and the ending was wonderfully funny!


  3. I’m glad I never lose mine because I’d be so helpless but I can still relate to it. “Orphan socks” are more of my problem. 😀 And losing and forgetting stuff has become worse with the birth of my son. This was fun to read.


  4. I love the simplicity of your story. So many people can relate to this situation (as evidenced by the comments). I think my favorite was that single line (second to last paragraph). Take a shower and get out of my jammies? Ugh!


  5. Thank goodness my glasses are the one thing I can keep track of. They are a necessity for everything.

    But I have torn my house apart looking for everal other items that have some kind of cloaking device to keep them hidden.

    Well written, the pacing was perfect.


  6. I think you have to be one of two sorts to tell stories: the sort who lose eyeglasses or the sort who lose car keys. My dad retraced his steps one night through every casino in Las Vegas. He eventually came to terms with his loss and returned to his hotel to sleep the punch off. His glasses were on his face when he climbed out of bed.


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