I Remember

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman is haunted by an event that occurred in her past, one that years later she still struggles to come to terms with.

Submitted: March 31, 2017

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Submitted: March 31, 2017

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I Remember

 

I wasn’t very old, maybe twelve, when you first called to our house. You were tall and thin, wore tatty clothes. You looked kind of sick but maybe that’s just hindsight talking. Would I have really noticed that when I was twelve?

 

You’d met my Mom in a hospital, had kind of become friends. Or maybe it was that she saw you as someone that needed caring for. I don’t know what she saw me as but it certainly wasn’t as someone who needed looking after, protecting. I probably did more of that for her than she did for me.

 

So you'd call around in the daytime when my Dad would not be home. Not what it might sound like, for you were after one thing and one thing only. And that was money. Cash to feed your addiction to heroin. Why pick on us? We never had money to spare.

 

But she’d find you some. Probably not as much as you wanted but something all the same. I guess she felt she had to. You were her friend. Weren’t you? But I know that she worried afterwards, fretted about what you might do, what might become of you.

 

I don’t remember how we found out but we were to learn just what you had done.

 

One day you had gone home and had had enough. You filled up a bowl of water and put it on a table right underneath your light fitting. You turned off the power, unscrewed the bulb, flicked the switch back down to on. You climbed up on the table, stood in the bowl, and pushed your fingers inside the light fitting.

 

Of course it wouldn’t work now, not in houses where trip switches would cut off the power. Don’t get me wrong, you might still get a hefty shock but not continuous. Then the electricity was left free to flow. It was not kept a secret, I got to hear all of the details.

 

And I had nightmares for weeks. I had never really even spoken to you but I got to witness your death over and over again in my dreams. Even now, I am nervous of changing a light bulb.

 

And I find myself asking, why did you ever pick us!

 

 


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