Arielle Reedsy Anthology

Yellow

**note to self: yellow marker is hard to read

It was when I couldn't remember that I felt peace. I didn't have the blessing of blind hopes that it would work out. I knew. I knew what would work and what was destined to fail.

Early on I thought different.

Vainly, naively, I tried to alter, to change what paths lay prescribed before me. I ate different foods, went different routes, and talked to different people.

In the end, it all still played out scene by scene in a stop-motion panoramic glitch.

I watched the glass spider with fractures, knowing when it would break, where it would fall, and what I would need to say afterwards.

Nothing I did would absolve the wrenching conditions my memory placed upon me. Nothing would change the memories I still had.

And once they happened, I couldn't remember why or how.

What I said, vanished.

What I did, disappeared with silent stares.

What I thought, people refused to answer.

So forward I moved on a timeline where the only fog lay in the watered streets of morning, and in the empty spaces of my mind, living without knowing if I was the monster of your story.

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She knows how it's going to end. What she's going to do, or not do. And fighting it doesn't help.
But once it happens, it's gone. And people refuse to tell her. So she remains, captive to the only memories she has left.