i forgot my name again || buzzfeed unsolved/shyan

i'll lose my mind at least another thousand times

    The bright light of Shane's computer monitor stared back at him. The clock read forty minutes past one o'clock, and the document was blank. The only thing written down was the title, The Dancing Plague. A working title, of course, all Shane had was a page of handwritten notes and a loud mind. He couldn't sleep, he'd tried that hours ago, and he couldn't seem to even work. He tried to play with his cat, to get his mind off of things, but even Obi did not seem to want his affection. The events of the afternoon replayed in his mind, trying to come up with some sort of conclusion. He found none. Now, he couldn't even come up with a decent way to translate his silly puppet show from notes to a first draft. He glanced to the blue puppet lying on his desk, and then to his cell phone, and back to the puppet.

    Shane picked up his creation, fitting it onto his hand, giving some test movements. The Professor's mouth flapping earned Shane a laugh, no matter how silly this was. He began reciting his notes, just trying to spark some sort of inspiration in his brain.

    Soon, the conversation developed into something else entirely.

    "I've been so on edge lately, I can't even work." Shane sighed, looking into The Professor's stuffed eyes. "Today didn't help."

    "Talk to him."

    "I can't just talk to him!"

    "He'll understand you."

    "He couldn't."

    "He's your best friend!"

    "He'd freak out, for one. It was in his body."

    The Professor replied, "And then tell him about you. And then, if you're feeling adventurous, about how much you lo—". No, Shane replied. He was talking to himself. He sighed, slipping the blue puppet off of his hand and tossing him back down onto the desk. He was almost ashamed of himself.

    Still. There was a point to be gained from this. He knew what he should do, even if it took the puppet to tell himself. He needed to show Ryan the footage.

    He picked up his phone, giving a halfhearted sigh and opened it up to the photo album. In addition to the footage from when Ryan awoke, there were three new photos taken earlier — just two friends goofing around. There seemed a vague plan to post them on social media, as two friends goofing around sometimes turned into, but it may have given a bad impression to the employer that Shane called in to hours earlier. It wasn't much of a shame but an excuse. The photos would stay inside the parts of Shane's phone, untouched by whatever the world could throw at the subject of the memories.

    Ryan could die tomorrow. He could get hit by a car, or be a victim of an armed burglar. It was a fact of life. Everything seemed to move so fast. Maybe it was the bustle of LA, or the fact that his job was co-hosting a show about people whose plans came to a crashing halt, without so much as an answer of why. It didn't usually bother him. It didn't bother him at all. He couldn't explain why he stared at his grinning friend inside the screen.

    It wasn't that Shane wished anything ill on his friend. No, Shane knew he could die, too. He could be stabbed, or maybe he could be the victim of a house fire. The smoke could pour out of his windows, the fire spreading into the hallway through the open door. The flames would rip through his office — office? — as they did nothing but consume, only the smell of petrol and burnt wood barraging his senses as the smoke seeped into his lungs until he could no longer feel the heat.

    Brrt!

    It was like Shane had been dreaming, but he knew he hadn't. Regardless, he was pulled from his thoughts by the vibration of his phone in his hand.