Behind her crafted mask … Episode two…

The steam rises from my plate of freshly boiled noodles. I twirl my fork around the strands of steaming pasta absentmindedly as I summon to attendance memories. Memories of yesterday, memories of last week, memories of last year and memories even beyond those!  Why does the brain have such a large storage capacity? Why does it not shut down and refuse to store the old memories as new memories are made? And why do I keep summoning those memories?
I wish that my brain would delete and erase some of my memories! But how could it when I keep them refreshed by recollecting them! Day after day….

 

 

 

My memories are lethal as they sit in my mind like a sword in its quiver, waiting to be unsheathed. My memories are a world and an existence of their own with characters that never age and story lines that never change. And its sad, its sad to watch the same sad re runs over and then over again. And yet I never tire of summoning them. And yet I never bore of watching them….

 

 

 

My feet trek backward as my footprints place themselves in old muddy prints which they stepped in years before as voices from the past break through cracked walls within my mind….

 

 

 


I watch the crack of light from the space under my bedroom door. I hear the footsteps and I calculate where they’re headed to. I know who each step belongs to as I weigh the heaviness of the different steps. The clock on the wall ticks agonizingly and as each second passes I dread, then when the next second ticks again, mercilessly, I dread even more… Soon the footsteps will quiet down only to later make their way down the passage floor in slow, muffled and precise steps. I know the sequence of events by now, I’ve watched this episode too many times to mention. The creak and supernatural turning of my brass door handle signals that its time… Its time again….

 

 

 

” Can I get you something else Señora”?

 

 

 

I’m startled from my (day)dream, from my haunting memories as the waiter comes to refill my glass of iced water.

 

 

 

The steam from my pasta has evaporated and suddenly I don’t feel like eating it anymore. I push my plate of cold rubber noodles away from me as I gaze out of the large glass window watching people pass by, wondering; what are they thinking, wondering where do they live and where are they going, wondering if they have anyone who loves them, wondering if like me, they too are haunted souls wearing pretty masks when they leave their home…..

 

 

 

To be continued…

Haajar…

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