Where's My Mind? - By Elysian Gold

Written By: Elysian Gold

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In "Where's My Mind?" by Elysian Gold, readers are invited into a world where the boundaries of reality blur, and the shadows of memory loom large. This short story, part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, explores the enigmatic encounters with a mysterious figure known as the 'Shadow Guy.' Elysian Gold crafts a narrative filled with suspense and introspection, urging readers to ponder the nature of memory and reality.

About the Work

Elysian Gold's "Where's My Mind?" delves into the haunting theme of memory manipulation. The story's mood oscillates between tension and revelation, as the protagonist grapples with unsettling truths about their own reality. The narrative style is immersive, painting vivid scenes that juxtapose the everyday with the extraordinary. Through evocative imagery and a compelling plot, the story leaves readers questioning what is real and what is imagined.

Where's My Mind?

Original Submission by Elysian Gold

“Mister! Wait—" I yelled, waving frantically in the bustling crowd, but the figure receded. I was convinced that the ‘Shadow Guy,’ as I called him, had been following me. For how long, I can’t recall.

What was even more obscene than this daunting aberration, was that every time it neared me, that blackness crept into the corners of my vision and the now-familiar sensation one gets before fainting consumed me. I’d been trying to catch it for a long time, but never have I gotten close enough. On one occasion, I was the closest I had ever been. I then fainted.

The crowd dispersed as I strode hastily towards the library, my coat fluttering behind me while the freezing air nipped at my face. I exhaled a familiar mist before stepping off the cobblestone sidewalk and into the warmth of the library.

Trailing my index finger along the tattered spines of the books on mythological creatures, I murmured the titles under my breath until I found what I had been looking for: Mythological Creatures in Modern England. I carried the book to a comfortable corner and scanned the index.

“Memory Hoarders. . . “ I whispered, momentarily veering off my train of thought to read up on said creatures. I flicked through the pages until I saw the number that I had been looking for, having to turn the pages back a bit before I reached my desired information.

A strangely harmless creature, the book read, it can appear in most any form, predominantly taking a form like the one they are pursuing. Memory Hoarders are exactly what their name suggests. Once close enough, they take memories from their prey. Once they have a satisfactory collection, they begin to construct worlds for their kind to dwell in. These worlds can take millennia to make, hence why Memory Hoarder sightings are so rare.

I stopped reading to process the words. I wondered absently if perhaps had been one of those that I had encountered and turned back to the book.

. . . having one's memories taken can result in headaches, low blood pressure, and fatigue. Or in cases when a large memory or important thought is taken, fainting.

The feelings racing around in my head, screaming for recognition, would not be mistaken for joy or relief. Rather a paralyzing realization and disassociated fear engulfed me, and I put the book back on the shelf. Granted, I had discovered what the Shadow Guy likely was, but it was not consoling nor vaguely useful to know your memories are being compromised and taken.

Unwilling to leave the warm confines of the library just yet, I meandered around and resorted to reading more on religion and politics, something I had studied, in case any of those memories were taken. I scoffed at the thought of anyone using humanity’s political system as a model for their own. Though after an hour or so it dawned on me that I should rather brave the weather now than face the weather and the dark.

I hurried down the street, half of me wanting to run into Shadow Guy, the other half condemning the first for such a naive and utterly stupid thought. I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I adjusted my scarf and walked faster, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

I was looking at the sunset while I walked, as I noticed the dreaded blackness seeping into the corners of my vision. Not now, I begged, to no avail.

“Stop,” I tried to shout, my voice coming out meeker and more frightened than I would have liked. My heart was beating itself against my ribcage so hard I thought it may escape. It is terrible to fear something, but to know what you fear is arguably infinitely worse when you come face to face with it.

Amid my panic, an idea sparked into feeble existence, and I thought it worth a try. With all my mental energy that I had left, I thought solely of the sunset, nothing else. It did not help as I had silently wished it would have, but the blackness did slowly ebb away and I could breathe again, though I was not ready to remove my hand from the wall currency supporting me.

“That book was supposed to be destroyed two centuries ago,” a voice sounded behind me. That must have been the last straw as my feet slipped out from under me and I fell back, scrambling to rest against the wall as I forced myself to look up. The dark figure was not looming over me as I had imagined it was, in fact it looked just as scared as I was. Its voice was not pleasant per se, rougher and more devoid of emotion, it sounded as if it had not been used in, well, centuries.

“You can talk?” The first words out of my mouth; I instantly regretted them.

“Of course, human,” the Shadow Guy retaliated in a distinct monotone, it still had its hands raised slightly in what could have been a defensive manner.

“Why do you need memories?” I asked, a weird feeling of recognition appeared as I said that, but I didn’t put it past the creature to have taken that information too.

“Construction of worlds,” it said plainly.

“But why me?”

“You are referred to as a Carrier. Others of my kind create circumstances to test your reactions, and we structure our worlds on those memories, and the others that you have. Emotion is a concept that my kind cannot grasp, however.”

I paused, evaluating responses. Of all things I could have said, “Well, what now?” was the first question to be vocalized.

The creature stared at the human it was faced with, repulsed but intrigued. What it should have done is to just take all the human's memories and leave it as a completely blank slate. Though something intrigued it about this human. It wanted to run more tests. It’s brain narrowly missed a short circuit as it searched frantically for an answer.

“You have seen me, you cannot keep your memories, except the basics.” it said after some contemplation, and against its own opinion.

“No no no—" I started hastily.

“Then what am I to do?”

I paused, cursing myself for not thinking my words through, “Just leave me alone. Find another Carrier or something.”

“But you have so much we can use—"

“There are billions of options!” I snapped, glaring at the Memory Hoarder.

I think an answer would have been so much better than what it did next. Staring at me for a few drawn out minutes, it turned and walked away, leaving me in the freezing cold wind coated in the fading glow of dusk. Shaking my head to rid my mind of thoughts momentarily, I clambered to my feet and continued my way home. The thing that bothered me most about the encounter that had just transpired was the idea that it could have taken any memories or ideas from me, and I wouldn’t know. I got up and kept walking.

Struggling to get the key into my door with my shaking hands, from the cold or my encounter I am not sure, at long last I stumbled inside. I slammed the door behind me, locking it and triple checking that it was indeed locked, I threw my coat over the couch and went over to my own miniature library. I had converted a walk-in closet to serve this purpose, and it worked rather well.

Scanning the titles, I found one of more modern mythological creatures and sat down in the corner to read. This book had little more than the one at the library, but it did mention Carriers. Eagerly, I flicked through the index and turned to the page it had indicated.

Carriers are a way that Memory Hoarders run their tests, a newer method but much more useful to them. They will put the chosen person or Carrier through a variety of circumstances they conduct to gather the Carriers reactions.

I caught myself admiring their methods momentarily before snapping my attention back to how what the book had said would affect me, a ‘Carrier.’ I found my mind unable to conjure any further thoughts that would prove to be useful, so I resorted to feeble attempts at sleep.

One of my attempts must have worked as I woke groggily the following morning to the dawn glaring through my partially opened curtains. Looking over to my watch on the bedside table that was reliably inaccurate, I cursed myself for sleeping in. I was going to be late for work.

I forgot, as much as one can forget, the events of the previous day and, once ready, dashed downstairs to catch a cab. I strummed my fingers on my knee as we drove, wiling the traffic to move faster than it currently was. Again, I looked to my watch and frantically wondered why I bothered if the only thing it was consistent in was being wrong.

Arriving at long last, I scrambled out of the car, through the double doors and into the reception area. It was bustling with the unenthusiastic buzz of strung-out writers and bored editors as I walked to my office. Or that’s where I would’ve landed up if I hadn’t walked into another person. They apologized profusely, as did I, though I watched, fascinated, as all of my papers that had been stacked up under my arm were now fluttering agitatedly towards the tiled floor.

“Leave them be,” I said, “It’s fine.” I knelt to pick up the papers and the other person left, as I had asked, but now silently wished they hadn’t. The joys of being overly kind. Casting those thoughts aside, I hurried to scrape all the documents together.

“You’re late,” the greeting my boss gave me when I finally stepped, flustered, out of the elevator.

“I know,” I scurried past, my papers on the verge of falling out of my arms again and I darted around to find somewhere to put them down. Finally, and grudgingly, I settled on my desk, dumping the disheveled stack of papers onto the wooden surface.

I leant back in my chair, evading the thoughts of yesterday expertly as I pondered the question of how I was going to work when my desk was occupied. I stared evilly at the paper until I finally decided to convince myself to do something about it.

I sorted them into their respective files, tedious work I had no secretary to do. To be honest, when I had come here to be a published writer, I had never expected to have this much admin dumped carelessly on my head.

“Hello,” I jumped at the sound, I wouldn’t call it a voice. I turned slowly around with one finger pointed directly at my Shadow Guy.

“No,” I said slowly, making sure the Memory Hoarder could understand me.

“I said I’d find you,” it replied, staring intently at me with eyes I couldn’t see, but I could feel it’s chilling gaze on me, nonetheless.

“How did you find me?” I asked, despising my curious nature.

“When were you given this office?” I paused to think, only to discover that I had no recollection of that ever happening, and yet it must have.

“Why you—"

“Who are you talking to?” My boss was standing in my doorway, and I could have sworn I saw a malicious smirk cross the creature's obscured face as it stepped to the side.

“Nobody,” I said, a little too cheerily. She did, after a long stare at me, turn and leave.

“Apologies, human,” The words said once they were gone.

Everything went black.

Next thing I found myself sitting up in my chair, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

What was I. . . Oh yes, I thought, turning back to the book I was writing, typing in the heading: Mythological Creatures in Modern England.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is an esteemed platform celebrating literary excellence. It invites writers worldwide to showcase their talents across various categories, including poetry, short stories, and creative writing. This competition serves as a fertile ground for emerging voices and seasoned writers alike, fostering a vibrant community of literary enthusiasts.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Elysian Gold for sharing the captivating short story "Where's My Mind?" with us. As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this piece stands as a testament to the power of storytelling. Thank you, Elysian Gold, for your contribution to this creative journey.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.