Eleanor McAdam Black Hole Memories
Access : LongTermMemory _ dataStream ( 08:31,15.05.2103 )
On the inside of my eyelids , I see a room . A room I now only see in my memories .
The door swings inwards and with it a small figure hanging onto the doorknob , bare feet lifting off the floor as he is swept into the room . He brushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand and smiles the way only children smile , before the world presses against the unblemished cheeks and forces the face neutral . He rushes towards me , arms out and fingers grasping , asking to be lifted . As I raise him up , resting his weight on my hip , his arms lock around my neck .
The dataStream darkens and distorts . I have watched digitised old movies on the internet before , where old physical film curls when damaged or burnt . While memories are digital in origin , they burn in the same way . Arms around my neck .
Blackness
Another thought encroaches , another memory , an association that creeps into this one unbidden . Another time . Another set of hands . No . I do not remember this . It is not him . It is just my little boy . There is no danger . He is looking at me , eyebrows drawn down in concern . ‘ What ’ s wrong ?’ he asks , voice high and sweet . So young . ‘ Nothing ,’ I say . ‘ You were gone .’ ‘ I was remembering . I am not now .’ His hand strokes down my cheek .
There is a black hole where my memory should be .
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