It was all in order. Now she could get on with it. She had been putting her memories into little, green cardboard boxes and now they stood on the shelf each marked with a piece of paper glued to the front of the box with the date and a keyword written on it. She had used the red pencil with bite marks that she had thrown after Legomas the day he left. A gesture so small and insignificant that he probably hadn't noticed. There were more than 100 boxes.
The keywords were intentionally cryptic. Only she would understand it. Beggar, Small draft, Geology, Mind Fuck, Ape face wound, Fluids, Token Skank, Decent, Descent, Toilet, Calm, Vivid, Meat, Safe, Carthage, Round... it went on and on and each word sent a shiver through her body. The same for the content of the boxes. A concert ticket, a coin, three strands of red hair, a small corner of a broken toilet tile, a guitar pick, blood on a piece of tissue, a half burnt passport, a broken leather strap, dried rose leaves, yellow candy paper. She took out the last box. The box were the label said: Fluids. The date were two month earlier. Inside it she had left the pencil.
I think we all keep some memories around in physical form.
Yes, and those interest me plenty. My grandmother was collecting all those important things of family history, and she often wondered about it. "It is only dead things, I know, and still... "
Ok so I see a string of boxes, all labeled some time earlier than their contents were inserted, each label becomes a quest, the last box holding the pencil to label the next box. She's stalking him, and seeks tokens of her memories of him. "Fluids" makes the story downright creepy.
Haha, yes that's away to see it. I try to never fully settle on what is going in many of these small texts.
Leaves them very open to interpretation! Art!
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