Reunion
He revisits dislocated memory. Disjointed and fractured - seething and ready to be reconstructed again. In any way. It doesn’t care. It stumbles and gathers to its feet. Now fully dislodged - it tells the story again. Not for truth. But for pleasure. It is dark. He tilts his head as they arrive untangled and bustling in the frame of the door. They slither over and pull up a chair next to him. And they begin their play. Pulling and tugging - twisting and turning. Slow smile and glance over at their new feed. He darts his eyes across the room - f ractions of seconds looped and blown open. He clinches his fists tight - digs his fingernails into his palms - his feet jerking violently off the floor. Teeth chattering like fractured bones. They are exacting. Each one taking what the last one left behind. When they are done, his chair falls to the ground. Next to him, a puddle of coagulated blood. The taste of brine and metal in his mouth.