Chapter 1: The Beginning of Madness

I've come to the conclusion, perhaps due to limited experience or a touch of insanity, that losing touch with reality severely disrupts our fragile human minds. I thought I had perished, yet somehow, I find myself alive. This is insanity.

The last vivid memory I hold is of people screaming as they were consumed by flames, their delicate skin turning to charred remnants. Honestly, I never anticipated such a grim opening statement. The worst part? Those who were engulfed in flames twisted and clawed at their own bodies, their movements gradually slowing until they resembled stone rather than human.

The sights I witnessed replay in my mind like a grotesque slideshow. These memories are indelibly etched into my consciousness: the explosions, the shattering glass, and the chaos that erupted after a brief moment of confusion.

I will never erase that from my mind. How could I? I believe I died. There’s a deep scar across my chest from where a piece of steel rebar pierced me, yet the building and the chaos that preceded all this have vanished.

I can't make sense of any of it.

To be honest, I don't even know where to start.

For starters, I died. There was absolutely no way to survive the calamity that occurred, and crawling out of that mess seemed impossible.

Yet, against all logic, here I am, penning a journal in what seems to be the afterlife.

Focus. One moment at a time. How often has your therapist advised you to stick to a single train of thought instead of flitting about like a headless chicken?

Let's pause at that moment — the explosion. That’s where this tale begins.

There was a loud crash, something enormous and unwieldy. I recall working; it was early morning and the nursing home's corridors were dim. The residents were asleep, those who could sleep.

I was in the hospice wing, mopping the floors. The mop handle felt strange and new, longer and sturdier than what I was accustomed to. My coworker had somehow broken the old one.

Concentrate, Potter. Stick to the narrative. No more rambling.

One moment, I was completing my task. The next?

In the blink of an eye, I was hurtling through space, a whirlwind of colors and sounds enveloping me. I felt as though I was falling upwards and sideways, my stomach lodged in my throat. My voice seemed trapped in some far-off place.

I don’t know what that crash was or how it sent me spiraling into this other realm. Perhaps I’ve sustained some brain damage. That seems like a logical explanation for the madness surrounding me.

Yet I know this place is unlike the world we inhabit on Earth. For instance, there are three moons. The largest moon looms heavy in the sky, casting light on the clearing where I now sit, the remnants of what might have been an ancient tree providing warmth beneath me.

How many days have passed? A little over three weeks, I believe. Twenty-four days, if I’ve counted correctly. Other journals are tucked away on a dusty shelf, hidden in plain sight.

It’s easy to conceal things when everyone’s eyes are elsewhere, isn’t it?

Breakfast today consisted of a green banana, what might have been porridge, and a glass of freshly melted snow-water. Winter is unforgiving.

I long for the warmth of summer breezes in Missouri, the elderberry bushes transitioning from bloom to berry, and the wild horses galloping across the valley. Here, I feel isolated. The inhabitants are eccentric, and the humans are the most peculiar of all. I am the resident Fat Girl trying to comprehend something utterly nonsensical.

The guards are making their rounds; I can see the glow of their lanterns filtering through the trees. There’s no compass to guide me back to that little cabin a few miles beyond the village walls.

But I have my humor (or lack thereof, though I do my best), a few bottles of liquor, a smidge of sanity, and this journal. I need to procure more alcohol. It’s the only thing keeping me warm in this hellish, frozen wasteland.

Running out is not an option — not for my sanity or for the sake of those around me. We all do what we must, right? One for all, and all for one.

What else could I need in a realm where sanity and a fractured mind intertwine? If all goes well, and if this journal remains undiscovered, I will return.

This narrative serves as a response to Jonathon Sawyer's 49th Monday Mashup!

The video titled Ramblings of a Mad Woman dives deeper into the mind of a character grappling with the absurdities of her circumstances and reveals the struggles faced when reality blurs with madness.

Chapter 2: The Surreal Landscape

Here, the adventure continues as the madwoman explores her new reality, confronting the peculiarities that define this strange world.