This is a (very) short story about my adventures in a box. It's largely inspired by Steven Hall's super awesome Raw Shark Texts in which our protagonist is chased by a conceptual shark that eats memories. It's very good, my story isn't.
(If you can't make the story out on the picture, here it is in text form too:
So there i was, alone on the living room floor, in a box, the clear and unbroken horizon stretching out to all around me. At first i just sat there, bobbing gently on the imaginary waves, the ceiling light beating down on my bare neck like a hot unrelenting sun. I'd taken a broom with me by way of a paddle and took a flew exploratory stokes to nowhere in particular. The air was fresh and salty and a faint breeze tousled my hair. I hadn't noticed it at first but the furniture was starting to move away from me, the bookcase and the TV had already nearly drifted out of sight and i could just make out the table and a couple of chair disappearing over the horizon. i watched as my plant and small shelving unit were sucked under by the current leaving behind nothing but a couple of DVD's in the eddy. Panicked, I struck out with my broom towards the sofa but couldn't get any traction on the parquet flooring. I realised i'd soon be stranded if i didn't do something so I tried desperately the think of some real world task to escape the fantasy, dishes, washing, income tax returns, something solid and banal, something i actually needed to do. But I'm too far out, i won't be doing those things today... )