Memory pirates

Being of nautical mind, I turned my memory palace into a memory galleon. My most important memories were kept in the captain’s quarters, my hopes in the crow’s nest, and the things that I’d rather forget in the brig. The day’s tasks would be scrawled across the snapping sails in brilliant vermillion ink, and day-to-day memories were boxed within the cargo hold.

As I aged though, I didn’t account for memory pirates, and when the first grappling hook of Alzheimer’s sailed across the deck and snagged itself against the starboard gunwhale, I knew I was in a for a fight…

Annie

Annie’s face emerges through the haze, aftershocks still rumbling beneath. Her expression is peaceful, but her verdant eyes are bright. Her head turns quizzically, seeing me in the rubble as her neck telescopes past fallen supports. Powerful LEDs ignite from her brows, driving back the gloom.

Her dainty ballerina’s feet pick across floor, and effortlessly she lifts the slabs that trap me. She exposes my shattered leg, and kisses me with a wicked barb, diluting pain with anaesthetic. I descend into airy darkness as the rescue-drone with the dead girl’s face carries me from powdery ruins and out to salvation.

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Gary's tension

Gary’s tension took on a new form. Yeah, he was always tense during interviews, but this was something different. He felt it deep in his gut, a sliding sensation, like a knot of worms languidly uncoiling themselves, and becoming a single, purposeful shape. The feeling grew, expanding upwards through his chest, squirming against his heart, and crushing air from lungs. Gary sat ramrod straight, sweating from his temples as he felt the first tentative brushes at the back of his throat.  Panic gripped him as he felt the delicate probing at his sinuses, and the first interview question was asked.

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A return, of sorts

After what feels like an unfathomable amount of time (it seems to be pattern forming), I've started writing again. It's taken me even longer to put up a post.

This year has been a very steep learning curve, full of some absoltuely amazing times and successful moments, like getting married (woot!), entering into private practice and really knuckling down with savings, tempered with some experiences that somewhat battered my self-concept, like  some challenging interactions with others, having change my goals and to scale back private practice, and returning somewhat less than triumphant to a previous employer, and the uncertainty of contract work.

The advice coming from a situation like this (with all of the caveats about this being only the author's opinion, etc) is that if you have some hinky gut feelings about somone or something, the approach it with a bit of caution, and work at it slowly, not charge ahead. Chalk it up to experience.

Now, I'm thinking that you probably didn't come here to read about these gripes, so how about we follow this post with a Drabble? For the uninitiated, a Drabble is a short peice of fiction consisting of 100 words exactly. Presenting "Gary's tension," and let's hope that it's not so long between drinks this time around

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