Memory is like Water in Cupped Hands
An uncomfortable tingling ran across my shoulders and up the back of my neck; the sensation of insects crawling across my grave.
“Where did he go? People don’t just disappear!” I didn’t quite shout.
The girl looked away and said softly, “People disappear all the time. We just don’t notice.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nevermind. What I meant to say is that this is a park. Whoever he was probably just continued hiking or whatever. Plus there are trees everywhere.”
I didn’t like it but she did have a point. “I’m sorry. Like I said I’m a little weirded out right now. My name is—”
I broke off in mid-sentence, perplexed. Who was I? I couldn’t remember. Scrabbling for any memory, I tried to think back but it was like trying to pull reflections out of a pond. I remembered growing up on St. Helen’s Street, outside of Redding. I remembered my mom’s face and the smell of peanut-butter cookies. A dog named Cliffy. An older sister named Alexandria, after the Great Library.
But who was I and what was I doing in a park?
Comments (1 so far!)
Moving these prequels over from the old site to here since linking the site via tags doesn't actually seem to work.
- #3837 Posted 3 years ago
Inspired by (prequel to):
“Do you have a wallet?”
I looked at the girl without comprehension, my mind focused on the fact tha…Just Because You Don't See It--
- Published 3 years ago.
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