kathryn l. pringle

 

 

From Temper & Felicity are Lovers.

 

THE GREY ROOM

 

I have thought a lot about MEMORY. I think about MEMORY that is not MEMORY and then I think about MEMORY that is MEMORY and then I decide not to REMEMBER so that I don't REMEMBER any MEMORY that is not MEMORY.

 

I think about MEMORY and then I think about REMEMBERING the stories my imagination creates which are stories about the ocean and how sea stars—they aren't supposed to be called starfish anymore because they aren't fish at all—have their eyes at the pointed tips.

 

she stretches her fingers towards me—my imagination is a little girl. she stretches eight fingers towards me and tells me I see how a sea star sees and laughs and as she laughs the black begins to swirl around my head and I feel drowsy again.

 

 

 

my name is felicity. i promise to tell the truth. the whole truth. and nothing but the truth. if you could see behind my head you would see a television screen. embedded. it has been placed there by the authorities of OUR Body. it will tell you what They want you to hear. embedded.

 

 

 

when my METAPHOR was dying she would cry out in the middle of the night to the invisible family around her bed. I could hear her from my upstairs bedroom. I realize now that I always choose to be in the room farthest away from COMPANY residents.  not that I didn’t love my METAPHOR. not that I didn't want to hear her scream. I mean. I didn't want to hear her screaming. not ever. she spent a good amount of time screaming. my METAPHOR did. whenever she was able. she was usually able. it is fitting that while she was dying she would scream out into the night. it is fitting that I would lay awake in my bed and wonder if she could see the OFFICERS that I had carried into the house.