to B or not to B: a Triptych

Blisterine

He sat there in the comfort of the bed, watching the rain prattle on the street.

The moments of lucidity were leaving him, slowly but surely, like a marching band on its way home after a long day playing at the town fiesta. He remembered nothing of the past, and the present flows through him as if he were a sieve, leaving small traces of what is that will soon wash away with tomorrow's waves.

The mirror in the bathroom showed him what he looked like: blue eyes, brownish red hair, regular features, except perhaps for a bottom lip that could be considered too full. His dog tag told him his name: W.C. Emerson, 9th Battalion.

His books lined the walls of his small apartment. He made lists, lots and lots and lots and lots, that come to mean nothing when he reads them again.

The mind that once held the state's most dangerous secrets is now empty.

The time has come.

-30-

Boulangerie Avenue

The baguettes were fresh when he bought them.

He meant to leave them for a day in the basket so he can make croutons with them for his French onion soup. The neighbour's dog came in for his daily lunch.

The radio was tuned to some station that played retro music, which soothed him as he exercised in the morning, cooked breakfast and lunch, and studied in the evening.

Moving to this town proved to be a blessing for him. It is quiet and the neighbours are friendly and generous. 

The old couple two blocks down always gave him apples and oranges from their yard when they were in season.  The family next door looks after his garden when he leaves town for business.

He never sees the mailman.

-30-

Bruise Lee

There were no ducks on the pond.

He is old now, alone like he's been most of his life.

Winter came and went without his knowing, because the snow does not come to visit anymore. Not since he left the military after the Last War.

The wine smelled sweet but it tasted bitter in his tongue.

"Could you find me?" he wrote in his journal. He could not remember who he was talking to in his head.

He remembers feeling this way, a long time ago, before he came to this place in Nowhere Ville, as the young like to call it nowadays. Remembering he remembered nothing. Oh what a pain in the ass, he thought. What was I supposed to remember to forget?!

The brown leaves told him, though, that Winter never forgot him. It was coming, it told him, he could feel it climb from his toes up to his legs, to his waist, but it stopped right there.

The sun shone instead.

-30-