Memories

I’ve seen them as they fly above, looking down, drooling as they wait to place themselves in the minds of the unsuspecting. An open window is most inviting, as people sit beside them, laughter or cries tumbling into the world. Creating space, for new emotions to nest within the house. It’s then that they’ll strike. Like a swarm of moths flying towards a light. Clumsy and seemingly without guidance, but on a mission anyway. Planted, on the brain. Flapping their wings to make your head itch. Memories, begin their work.

I’m usually safe.

I’ve developed ways in order to block them from coming towards me. My curtains, shut. I never leave the house without deciding on my route first. The safest takes the least amount of time, sees the least amount of people.

But tonight, I’m hiding. Shaking, my breath comes out in experimental pulses, as I stay as silent as possible.

I can hear the collective batter of their wings. Fluttering all throughout the house. Inspecting every nook and cranny, the tips of their shadows just passing over mine. As senselessly, they try and discover me.

Memories are blind, brought forth by emotion. They settle on the presence they detect. So, I do my best, to be as emotionless as possible. But I can’t help the hammering my heart does against my ribs.

I wasn’t paying attention when they snuck into my house. Creeping up on me as I indulged in harmless fun governed by nostalgia. At first came the scent, tapping the tip of my nose. Alerting all my senses.

Nostalgia is a giving enemy, but an enemy nonetheless.

Yet, each night, it seems that I am the only one that is afraid.

They whisper to themselves as they look for me. A hive mind understanding of what their mission is.

Have you found them? I hear the moon, call out to them.

They cannot answer.

But the moon tuts, and its footsteps creak against the floors of my house. Every step coming closer, and closer. My breaths stopping, as one of them flutter underneath the crack of my bedroom door. Their wings black and glowing with a slight pattern of purple.

I don’t move as it flutters beside me.

It turns.

Stopping in front of me.

Coming towards me.

I run out of the door; it follows behind me. Moon turns around, surprised as it sees me running down its path.

It’s arms open, seemingly to welcome me into its realm.

I’m usually safe, but the moon has me in its grasp, as I pray it takes me somewhere far away.

I tell it I need to go.

But it doesn’t hear me.

And with my eyes pried open. They fly towards me. Entering through my mouth. My nose. My eyes. The memories settle in my mind. Crawling around, and not leaving until there is nothing more for them to manipulate.

Creating an artificial craving, for a costume of myself that I’ve grown out of. The world becomes void, as sombre feelings trail across my heart. For a moment, I’m left spinning, cold and alone. That is, until moon rises again with laughter, the stars shimmering violently behind it.

And even though I feel the need to pull away, to shut all my windows. Pull my curtains closed, and hide under my bed until the memoires leave. I am only drawn closer. Sucked further back in my life, instead of moving forward.

-- Mahalia Otshudy