Flashbacks
My brain is addicted to pictograph memories. Ten years ago, I left the world I knew to begin a journey that continues today. On the surface, I'm just another 30ish woman with a career and an all-too-common single mom lifestyle. It's what lies beneath that has wrecked me. I am drawn to the void, the voices of what could have been pulling me ever deeper. I wake up in a sweat several times each night, fearful of what was and what will be. The images are still so real, even five years later. I've been told to let go of the guilt, but what am I without it? Who will remember them? Gunshots ring out and I cry quietly, alone in the dark. They say these pills and a recovery group will help. I numbly swallow the bitterness, taking only what I can carry as I dress again for a new day. You meant no harm, it was a simple hello after all the silence. It's been eight long years, yet I can still feel your warm hand on mine, see that irresistible smile unfolding across your face. ...
