Tag: memory

I Don’t Want To Sleep

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I don’t want to sleep.
Things are happening all over the world all the time.
If I sleep, something will happen, and I won’t know about it until I wake up again.
I’ve tried alarms based on news alerts and Google searches, but it’s so hard to find the right rules to use.
I sleep less and less every day, but that just makes me less and less alert when I am awake.
I miss just as much from being drowsy as I do being asleep.
So, I’ll sleep, and the world can go on without me.
Good night, everyone.

Shoelaces

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“Your shoelace is untied,” says a voice.
I stop and look back.
Nobody’s there.
I hear this kind of thing all the time. Especially since the accident.
I was always bad about tying my shoelaces when I was little. Sure, I tripped a few times, but I learned to just tuck the laces in.
I liked loose shoes. Nice and relaxed.
So, when one came loose on the railway platform and I tripped over it, I was really surprised.
Train ran over my legs.
Yeah, there’s nobody behind me.
I turn back around and roll my wheelchair to the elevator.

Say It

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What is it?
I guess the best way to say something is just to say it.
The longer you think about it, the more likely you’ll try to come up with ways of saying something else, and then you eventually don’t say what you need to say at all.
And that’s not right.
The longer you take to tell someone something, you might forget some of it. Or you might feel rushed and it comes out wrong.
There’s no taking those things back. Especially things that need to get said.
What did I need to tell you?
Oh, never mind.

Anonymous

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I prefer to think of myself as famously anonymous.
The bigger I get, the less people recognize me on the street.
I barely recognize myself in the mirror. When I go to brush my teeth or comb my hair, for just a moment, I wonder how a stranger got past my bodyguard.
I don’t even look like my ID anymore. Not even my shadow recognizes me. It still follows, but not quite as confidently as before.
Maybe my fingerprints have changed, too? My DNA?
If I’m going to commit this crime, I’d better do it before I change my mind.

Childhood Squid

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When I was little, my grandfather took us to an old-fashioned Merry-Go-Round. It had hand-painted horses and lions and elephants and…
And a squid. A bright purple squid, its tentacles waving about, and its beak snapping along in time with the calliope.
My brother and I would fight over who’d get to ride it. My grandfather wasn’t much help, because he was Old School. He thought kids ought to fight over such things.
It took thirty-five years, but I’ve found that squid. It’s in a museum.
Keep an eye out for the guard, dear.
It’s my turn to ride now.

Fresh Flowers (Episode 1,000)

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Every day for the past two years, I’ve stopped by the cemetery on the way home from work and put fresh flowers on my wife’s grave.
It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing or there’s a hurricane on the way.
Flowers. Grave.
Maybe a bit of wailing and shouting of “WHY? WHY? WHY?”
When I’m done, I get back in my car and drive home.
“Did you do it?” my wife asks.
“Yes, dear,” I say.
“Good,” my wife says. “Practice makes perfect.”
Looking back, I probably should have gotten her a necklace for her birthday two years ago.

Running On Empty

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I wake up, smelling… burnt meat?
Everything’s swimmy and wild.
Am I drugged?
There’s a swirling, kaleidoscope medic standing over me. He moves his lips, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
He writes on a card, holds it up: “Do you hear that beeping sound?”
I try to shake my head, but it’s strapped down.
“No,” I say.
I can feel myself saying No, but I can’t hear it.
The medic writes more: “What do you remember?”
“I was checking the gas can. Then, I saw a bright flash, and then… this.”
The medic writes again: “With a lighter?”

Eleven… um, I mean Twelve Step Program

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I was sitting on the toilet when I suddenly realized that I forgot to lift up the lid before taking a dump.
My mind’s been fuzzy since the accident. I may look okay, but I forget steps.
Like yesterday: I put my shoes on before my socks. That kind of thing.
It used to be worse. One time, I handed my fiance the hairdryer while she was still in the shower.
That’s why I’m here. Well, that and a verdict of “Not Guilty By Reason Of Mental Defect.”
Although, from the awful things she’d yell at me, I’m not sorry.

In Russia, The Hundred Breaks You!

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Night. Fog. Cold.
Where am I?
Wherever it is, I’m not in the best part of it.
Hungry, confused. Cell phone’s dead.
Ugly, dirty faces pass by. Almost feral.
Markings in… some strange language?
Is it language?
I feel in my back pocket, take out my wallet.
It is overflowing with one hundred dollar bills.
Hungry.
No restaurants around. Just shabby vending machines.
“Where can I get food?”
They grunt in… what language is that?
I walk up to a machine. I…
It only takes coins.
“Can you break-”
I stop. I see the knife.
This is when you run.

In The Cards

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You know that special psychic powers test with the cards that have the different shapes on them?
One person looks at a card and the other tries to read their mind to see what they see?
Well, they tested me for that and found that I could psychically see them no better than guessing. One out of five.
But when people tried to read my mind to see them, they got zero right. Worse than guessing.
Apparently, I have the psychic power to confuse people trying to read my mind.
Or I’m just on another wacko wavelength on my own.