forgotten thoughts

stage 0:

Now before I begin, I'd like to give a small beginning to this long ass story I'm bouta write. now please, imagine you're in your late 70s, you've lived a warm and happy life with your significant other, or alone if you want that. More specifically you're sitting in your living room reading your favourite book as the fireplace comforts your soul, like a pet cat sitting on your lap. The rain is picking up outside, "it's a bit stormy out tonight huh". Some may refer to this as the golden days, and they'd be correct. However for you, these days have grown short.

Any speech marks in this story would be the voice in your head, trying to comprehend the event around you. Along with this. I will try and explain the confusion of the patient. To clarify. I am not in any way degrading the decay of dementia and the families involved in such a torturous disease. I did research into this problem deeply and am not going to only go off of the album everywhere at the end of time,  that is merely one part of it, being the music. I haven't experienced anyone with dementia and would hope I don't. I'm truly sorry if this is a  difficult subject to you, and if it is I will take it down. This is my first wattpad so idk what to do that well I'm sorry and I'm going to edit this over time :)

Allow me to begin

Stage 1:
As your eyes slowly open, the wooden roof boards greet you with a oddly warm welcome. For someone who's woke up in somewhere they don't know, it's calming. As well as this, music begins to play. Classical music, cheery and light, yet ominous and cold. The tune feels off, as if its almost right, almost perfect, almost, music. "So what are you going to do, just lay there on the floor? Get up". And so you do. As you stand up, the dust floating around you covers the room in a deep sheet of grey matter. The only visible light leaks through one singular window, tinted by age and decay. However,  whereas light would usually touch everything in an area. This one doesn't,  all that is lit up is a chair and a table. You walk closer towards it, because, what else are you going to do? Might aswell have a look around. The chair itself looks familiar "I remember this chair, it's a chair in my house, that's my chair. But what's wrong with it, it doesn't look loke the one I have" However it does look quite fine. The... uh... the cloth covering it is a bit dirty but all round ok. "Have a seat for a minute, huh?" You deserve a minute to assess your surroundings.
The chair creaks, springs break. It doesn't collapse which is nice, but. Its not exactly functional.
The point is, you can sit on it, so it's decent.
With this, you can see the table in its full glory. Glory may be the wrong word however. It looked like a table you'd see in a saloon like a true smokers table. The table wasn't empty though. It had an empty cup, stained by old liquid. "Someone had definitely been here, not too sure when. But someone was here. I wonder if they still are?". Then, all of a sudden, the music changed. Its more reverbed and slowed but still clearly music. But, where is the music coming from. Where ever you move, it's still the same volume. In the same direction, always behind you. Along with the cup, there was a picture frame, unsurprisingly, a picture was inside. There was either 3 or 4 people in the scene. "But, who were they?" "You don't know these people, do you?". The people had bodies, figures that held themselves in ways you've never seen, almost mangled but no gore left over.  As well as this, the facial expressions were so incredibly broken and degraded. No eyes, no nose, no distinctive features.
"Maybe it's best if you get up" "explore a bit, eh?" And so thats exactly what you do. There's another room room your left "is it left?, that way, or is that right?" The kitchen.

Stage 2:
The kitchen looks so much worse than the living room, it's more sorrowful and abandoned. The lack of colour floods the room with pain and lacks so so much. "Wait, kitchen, that means food and water. Fridge" "that's the best place to check, the fridge." You check. But all that's left in it is a box of tea bags and a flickering light, humming away to a monotone tune. "Why is there just a box of tea bags, I don't drink tea, I think". The fridge only had one shelf. With steel bars holding whatever was on it up. Only there wasn't much up on that shelf.
"Just close the damn fridge" it's not worth it anymore.
As the fridge closed the sound of milk bottles clanking together in joy chimed up. But there's nothing in there. I just checked there's nothing, nothing at all! WHY IS THERE SOUND IF THERE'S NOTHING IN THERE!
However, there's more to a kitchen than a fridge. There was a pair of curtains holding and absorbing every particle of light out of the room. However it was obvious to see, the sun was setting over the stolen horizon. Beneath this, a sink sits being unusually active with a tap running what I can imagine is meant to be water. But looks more like deep, thick tar. Sludging around a sink with a bottomless drain. With plates and bowls painted like 40s china but stained by the oil.
The music clips once again to a more somber and slow song with a vinyl crackle over it, almost drowning it out but it's definitely there. There is still music.