The Vagaries of Memory
by Sparks In Shadow
Sometimes she doesn’t remember, and can’t explain.
Tangles of pain stand in for thoughts, threatening everything outgoing, heroic or true that ever welled up inside her. Despair repelling reason, often screaming loudly in a voice too quiet or polite to be heard. Woe when the whispers fall on someone frail who, hearing them as their own, runs away or flails wildly. She doesn’t escape those random blows. She’s not fast enough, hasn’t the skill.
The dying are rarely grateful as they fall but sometimes remember before the end of everything, writing down terror instead of lighting it’s slender, cursed fuse.