Ficlets

The memories come back in a rush, and he grasps at the curious threads and tries to assemble them before he loses them again. Something is there, an incident it seems, long forgotten.

He was walking through these woods, along this creek. He remembers a mood. Is it the end of his high school years?

Yes, that must be it. He remembers feeling grown and strong, independent, but still young and awkward.

He remembers an autumn day, the waning sun shining through the red and orange leaves, dappling the ground.

Someone was with him. Someone, yes, but no, not one of his friends. Someone else.

His forehead creases in thought. A darker presence. A bully? An enemy? Yes. That seems right. But how? Why?

The flashes come faster. He remembers careful planning. In his mind he sees red on metal, the white of bone. He hears a grating thump.

A panic chills over him, and suddenly he scrambles to unravel the threads of memories, to bury them again in the soft earth by the river.

He remembers now: He forgot this on purpose.