Ficlets

I am in a constant state of déjà vu.

Everything that happens, has happened before, but I can’t quite remember how until I see it again.

Faces. A disconnected body part… a shoulder. Laughing in the far-off cornfields? All so familiar, yet none of it sensible.

Why should I expect the past to have made sense, when the present obviously doesn’t? Do I have any good reason at all to believe that the world is a sensible place? Do I have the slightest good reason why the simplest theory is more likely to be true?

I am followed by agents of a sinister power. Sinister because they follow me. Agents because they’re obviously not working on their own. Someone is giving orders, but their name eludes me.

Tears are wet against my cheeks, but I can no longer trace their origin. Was I crying? Do I have eyes?

Vision wavers. Is it just a dream, or am I still awake?

A gunshot rings out in the night and I feel myself falling. Or is it my true love, or a desperate betrayal?

The cold amnesia of benadryl sleep comforts me.