fiction by Elissa P. Matthews

The Persistence of Memory

Whenever I see that picture of the clocks melting all over the place I think of my brother Izzie’s wife Gitla and what happened to her. Her memories came up and practically bit her right in the tuchas. But that’s what happens, isn’t it? Inside our heads time rolls around like a ball of string, getting tangled in everything, and the memories you thought you had packed away in the back of the hall closet come tumbling out all over the floor one day when someone opens the door the wrong way, so to speak. But it was just a shame, what happened to Gitla.

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