Friday 16 November 2018

250 Words: Losing sight of you, gaining insight

Your red hat and your height have always helped.  I could always pick you out in a crowd, even before my eyes began to fail.

After they told me I began to memorise every part of you, linking sight to touch and smell, learning to feel changes to alter that memory, keep the image up to date.  And where I couldn’t, I studied your tattoos, the formations of your unraised moles until they were as familiar as my own. 

“I won’t ever forget a single feature.”

As the black curtain began to draw in, I ramped up my efforts to recreate you perfectly when I closed my eyes.  I tested myself frequently, described you to yourself while seated in another room, drew pictures, wrote stories.  Created an avatar to serve in your stead.

“You won’t ever want another creature.”

“I don’t want to.  But what if I do forget?”


And now that I cannot even see your entire face at the same time, my hands and fingers trace your face evermore desperately while you kiss me to reassure me, tell me not to worry.

“I will be here.  By touch, by smell, by ear
Memory does not matter once love has beget.
(And when it doesn’t need to make sense.)”


I knew I feared the unknown more than anything, that an avatar was never needed when I had you.

Your worn hat full of your smell will always help.  And I’ve always been pleased that I am taller than you.



Written for Faber Academy's QuickFic from the following picture prompt (a few lines down).

This week I won and got featured on their website!  Thanks so much for picking my story!  

I should say that I was also very inspired by the memory of a column I used to read in the Guardian Weekend by Rebecca Atkinson called Losing Sight, Still Looking (I've linked to an example column, I can't seem to find a page for the whole series).



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