I’m taking these pills, my doctor says they are great for memory problems. I can’t remember how many people I’ve killed these last 10 years.
My head is full of voices. But I can’t sleep because I don’t remember the sound of yours anymore.
She had always thought of her father as an unreasonably harsh disciplinarian and had little if any recollection of his tenderness. Yet later on in life, her brother reminded her that when she had been very small and made what she considered to be a “gourmet” sandwich of ham, barbecue sauce, Fritos, and Tang sprinkled on top for good measure, their father had eaten it all and told her several times how good it was.
There were times, when she would catch the faintest whiff of fresh air, that she could remember with startling clarity the nights spent out on the lake, riding around on the boat, Maura’s hand clasped in her own as they looked up at the stars from their pallets on deck.
But the lake was gone, along with the boat, Maura was as good as gone, with no idea what had been done to keep her safe, and the only memories she had to look forward to making now were how far they could torture her with hard labor and hard blows before she merely phased out of existence.
“How about this one?” Jeremy asked after spritzing the cologne onto a paper tab and holding it right up to my nostrils.
“No!” I shouted almost too immediately, thrusting his hand away, but my memory had already whisked me swiftly away back into Frederick’s strong arms that held me firmly but swayed me delicately back and forth, back and forth to the subtle music of the cold wind that rushed through the celadon fields of the Falklands in a way that made individual blades of grass take turns reflecting the sun’s iridescent light, and as we stood there on that rocky cliff overlooking the edge of eternity, tears clinging desperately to our cheeks but ultimately plummeting to their death, he begged me please oh please don’t go.
He held her to him and sobbed. When she woke up she wouldn’t remember a thing, and it was all his fault.
Coming from the country side people ask whether I miss the flowers or the forests the most.
In truth what I miss most is the smell of mown grass.
Stealing your cookie and gulping it down is one of my favourite memories.
I’ve replayed it so many times it is getting thin and fading away.
Grandpa always claimed there was a fork at the end of the path behind his house: Candyland one way, the other a nightmarish landscape with monsters.
He could never remember which was which so we promised to go another day, but he died when I was eleven and I still haven’t picked which way to go.
Is it possible that what it meant to me will just be a memory?
Nah, I’ll always love you little rocking horse.
Walking hand in hand through the glistening wet sand, as the water lapped at their feet the young couple did walk without a care in the world. Without warning the surge carried them far out to sea where they were together forever, just a memory of what could have been.