Those Jagged Shards

I don’t really remember everything that happened that night they started.
Everything is separated into jagged, cracked shards. Little bits of sounds, and touches, or pictures.
They barely fit together.
This happens each time It happens. Everything is vivid for a few days, and then poof- it’s gone. Who knows exactly where those memories go. Maybe they’re shoved into the back of your head, forgotten, but still there. Or maybe, maybe simply your body doesn’t want to remember, and so it doesn’t.
I used to talk a lot.
People used to call me Chatty Cathy, back in those days before the second time It happened.
“Always asking questions, that girl,” My mom used to say. Not anymore. No, not anymore.

Why would we say that you have the
right to remain silent, if you don’t?

View this story's 1 comments.