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Challenge
Write a story in only first person. You are not allowed to use any third person or second person pronouns (you/he/she/it/them/yours/theirs/etc.). Any genre, but it has to be prose. (Tag me @MayFlower )
No use of any pronouns other than first person. This will be challenging, but be creative. It is possible.
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JMS in Fiction

My I mine

As if I wasn't lost enough in my sollipsism, suddenly, the challenge strips me of use of others' personal pronouns. Here I was thinking that with writing I would connect to the world and no longer stand tall as me and myself. Here I was thinking that I could give up the selfish I to eye myself to eye and not let me be, only, for me. Seems not, seems that I is I in this room too and any stirring in the mental melting pot I've pushed towards is just neurons firing right back at me.

But, at least, I have me, for myself, when my two arms hug me. And I have me, for myself, to smirk with when I look in the mirror. And I have me, for myself, in silence to understand my I mine unconditionally.

And that's enough to break away my doubt, because I think therefore I'm ready, to move forward and share all that is me. And if that little me feels cornered in the midst of my surroundings, then I'm to say that there's me-s all over to be me with.

And there are.

Remember when I played? I did, and took out the treasure map from under my bed, confidently placed the chess pieces down as stand-in figures of the adventurers. I hid behind a tree, ran as if I was part of an old-fashioned buggy video game, I looted the sights of the South Downs at dawn, as I huddled for warmth, enveloped all around.

Remember when I learnt? I did, and adapted my actions so that I'm not offensive and backwards, so that I'm always a new person and a child at the same time. A sponge, not of the freeloading type, but a soaker to take in with wild eyed fascination of all the liquids and viscosities, of all the shapes and patterns, of all the abstract and concrete that I could fit in my little nooks and crannies.

Remember when I loved? I did, and gave up myself to the dance of two, sometimes more. I gave and took, I built a house to live in and left much later when I needed my feet to move, wheels to carry me, a boat to feel the breeze in. I laughed as my hand was held; kissed when passion overtook me; cried when hurt was around me in such proximity.

I could never do that just me. And I could never have done that without me. So, here I am, me, I as I, alone but never lonely.