Yellowed polka dot dreams

I can’t breathe. I pause at the swirling stairwell, at the second step. I took a deep breath, absorbing the dull smell of antique furniture and floor polish. Lingering onto a sudden image of crisp yellow sheets breezing in the sun, my mind grab onto that image. On the third step, my mind grew blank. I couldn't remember where it was I had wanted to go. Then the telephone rang.

I'm suddenly jolted out of my thoughts making me forget whatever secrets I thought I had a grip on. I blink in the bright sunlight's dust, listening to the ringing of the telephone. Once, twice, a sudden silence. Just as well.

Memories, they appear daily but none would stay long, most would leave leaving a stain of uncertainty. Like dried-up rolls of film, they sit in the dark attic waiting to be develop but never could be found among the leftover miscellaneous objects of yesteryears.

The doctors prescribed Prozac but my mind refuses to calm down from the exhaustion that are my memories. I seek no solace in medication which will only hinder my mind for a few hours at a time. Flashes of yellowed polka dot memories encircled this old heart, sometimes taking it for long rides down dark roads. Beyond that, there is only darkness.


Friday 5: doctor, roll of film, stairwell, telephone, secret
Fiction Friday: “I can’t breathe.” Now keep writing.